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“OUT  OF  THE  EAST” 

REVERIES  AND  STUDIES  IN  NEW 
JAPAN 


LAFCADIO  HEARN 


AUTHOR  OF  “glimpses  OF  UNFAMILIAR  JAPAN” 


“As  far  as  the  east  is  from  the  west  — ” 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 
SEljc  Hitersiftc  ptcg?,  <JEambnt)0e 


Copyright,  1895, 

By  LAFCADIO  HEARNo 


All  rigid;,  reserved. 


HH:5&0E 


TO 

NISHIDA  SENTARO 

IN  DEAR  REMEMBRANCE  OF 
IZUMO  DAYS 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I.  The  Dream  of  a Summer  Day  ...  1 


II.  With  Kyushu  Students  • . . .28 

III.  At  Hakata 71 

IV.  Of  the  Eternal  Feminine  ...  .85 

Y.  Bits  of  Life  and  Death  ....  126 

VI.  The  Stone  Buddha 1.57 

Vn.  Jiujutsu 183 

VIII.  The  Bed  Bridal 243 

IX.  A Wish  fulfilled 280 

X.  In  Yokohama 304 

XI.  Yuko:  a Reminiscence  ....  331 


“ The  Dream  of  a Summer  Day  ” first  appeared  in  the  “ Japan  Daily 
Mail.” 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


I 

THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY 
I 

The  hotel  seemed  to  me  a paradise,  and  the 
maids  thereof  celestial  beings.  This  was  be- 
cause I had  just  fled  away  from  one  of  the 
Open  Ports,  where  I had  ventured  to  seek 
comfort  in  a European  hotel,  supplied  with  all 
“ modern  improvements.”  To  And  myself  at 
ease  once  more  in  a yukata,  seated  upon  cool, 
soft  matting,  waited  upon  by  sweet-voiced 
girls,  and  surrounded  by  things  of  beauty,  was 
therefore  like  a redemption  from  all  the  sor- 
rows of  the  nineteenth  century.  Bamboo- 
shoots  and  lotus-bulbs  were  given  me  for 
breakfast,  and  a fan  from  heaven  for  a keep- 
sake. The  design  upon  that  fan  represented 
only  the  white  rushing  burst  of  one  great  wave 
on  a beach,  and  sea-birds  shooting  in  exulta- 


2 OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

tion  througli  the  blue  overhead.  But  to  be- 
hold it  was  wortli  all  the  trouble  of  the  jour- 
ney. It  was  a glory  of  light,  a thunder  of 
motion,  a triumph  of  sea-wind,  — all  in  one. 
li  made  me  want  to  shout  when  I looked  at  it. 

Between  the  cedarn  balcony  pillars  I could 
see  the  course  of  the  jiretty  gray  town  follow- 
ing the  shore-sweep,  — and  yellow  lazy  junks 
asleep  at  anchor,  — and  the  opening  of  the 
bay  between  enormous  green  cliffs,  — and  be- 
yond it  the  blaze  of  summer  to  the  horizon. 
In  that  horizon  there  were  mountain  shapes 
faint  as  old  memories.  And  all  things  but 
the  gray  town,  and  the  yellow  junks,  and  the 
green  cliffs,  were  blue. 

Then  a voice  softly  toned  as  a wind-bell 
began  to  tinkle  words  of  courtesy  into  my 
reverie,  and  broke  it ; and  I perceived  that 
the  mistress  of  the  palace  had  come  to  thank 
me  for  the  chadai,^  and  I prostrated  myself 
before  her.  She  was  very  young,  and  more 
than  pleasant  to  look  upon,  — like  the  moth- 
m.aidens,  like  the  butterfly-women,  of  Kuni- 
sada.  And  I tbouglit  at  once  of  death ; — for 

- A little  gift  of  money,  always  made  to  a hotel  by  the 
g^est  shortly  after  his  arrival. 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  3 


tlie  beautiful  is  sometimes  a sorrow  of  antici- 
pation. 

Sbe  asked  wliitber  I honorably  intended  to 
go,  that  she  might  order  a kuruma  for  me. 
And  I made  answer  : — 

“ To  Kumamoto.  But  'the  name  of  your 
house  I much  wish  to  know,  that  I may  always 
remember  it.” 

“ My  guest-rooms,”  she  said,  “ are  augustly 
insignificant,  and  my  maidens  honorably  rude. 
But  the  house  is  called  the  House  of  Urashima. 
And  now  I go  to  order  a kuruma.” 

The  music  of  her  voice  passed ; and  I felt 
enchantment  falling  all  about  me,  — like  the 
thrilling  of  a ghostly  web.  For  the  name  was 
the  name  of  the  story  of  a song  that  bewitches 
men. 

II 

Once  you  hear  the  story,  you  will  never  be 
able  to  forget  it.  Every  summer  when  I find 
myself  on  the  coast,  — especially  of  very  soft, 
still  days, — -it  haunts  me  most  persistently. 
There  are  many  native  versions  of  it  which 
have  been  the  inspiration  for  countless  works 
of  art.  But  the  most  impressive  and  the 
most  ancient  is  found  in  the  “ Manyefushifu,” 


4 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


a collection  of  poems  dating  from  the  fifth  to 
the  ninth  century.  From  this  ancient  version 
the  great  scholar  Aston  translated  it  into 
prose,  and  the  great  scholar  Chamberlain  into 
both  prose  and  verse.  But  for  English  read- 
ers I think  the  most  charming  form  of  it  is 
Chamberlain’s  version  written  for  children, 
in  the  “Japanese  Fairy-Tale  Series,”  — be- 
cause of  the  delicious  colored  pictures  by 
native  artists.  With  that  little  book  before 
me,  I shall  try  to  tell  the  legend  over  again  in 
my  own  words. 

Fourteen  hundred  and  sixteen  years  ago, 
the  fisher-boy  Urashima  Taro  left  the  shore 
of  Suminoye  in  his  boat. 

Summer  days  were  then  as  now,  — all 
drowsy  and  tender  blue,  with  only  some  light, 
pure  white  clouds  hanging  over  the  mirror  of 
the  sea.  Then,  too,  were  the  hills  the  same,  — 
far  blue  soft  shapes  melting  into  the  blue  sky. 
And  the  winds  were  lazy. 

And  presently  the  boy,  also  lazy,  let  his 
boat  drift  as  he  fished.  It  was  a queer  boat, 
unpainted  and  rudderless,  of  a shape  you 
probably  never  saw.  But  still,  after  fourteen 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  S 


hundred  years,  there  are  such  boats  to  be  seen 
in  front  of  the  ancient  fishing-hamlets  of  the 
coast  of  the  Sea  of  J apan. 

After  long  waiting,  Urashima  caught  some- 
thing, and  drew  it  up  to  him.  But  he  found 
it  was  only  a tortoise. 

Now  a tortoise  is  sacred  to  the  Dragon  God 
of  the  Sea,  and  the  period  of  its  natural  life  is 
a thousand  — some  say  ten  thousand  — years. 
So  that  to  kiU  it  is  very  wrong.  The  boy 
gently  unfastened  the  creature  from  his  line, 
and  set  it  free,  with  a prayer  to  the  gods. 

But  he  caught  nothing  more.  And  the  day 
was  very  warm ; and  sea  and  air  and  all 
things  were  very,  very  silent.  And  a great 
drowsiness  grew  upon  him,  — and  he  slept  in 
his  drifting  boat. 

Then  out  of  the  dreaming  of  the  sea  rose 
up  a beautiful  girl,  — just  as  you  can  see  her 
in  the  picture  to  Professor  Chamberlain’s 
“ Urashima,”  — robed  in  crimson  and  blue, 
with  long  black  hair  flowing  down  her  back 
even  to  her  feet,  after  the  fashion  of  a prince’s 
daughter  fourteen  hundred  years  ago. 

Gliding  over  the  waters  she  came,  softly  as 
air ; and  she  stood  above  the  sleeping  boy  in 


6 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


the  boat,  and  woke  him  with  a light  touch, 
and  said : — 

“ Do  not  be  surprised.  My  father,  the 
Dragon  King  of  the  Sea,  sent  me  to  you, 
because  of  your  kind  heart.  For  to-day  you 
set  free  a tortoise.  And  now  we  will  go  to  my 
father’s  palace  in  the  island  where  summer 
never  dies ; and  I will  be  your  flower-wife  if 
you  wish ; and  we  shall  live  there  happily  for- 
ever.” 

And  Urashima  wondered  more  and  more  as 
he  looked  upon  her  ; for  she  was  more  beauti- 
ful than  any  human  being,  and  he  could  not 
but  love  her.  Then  «he  took  one  oar,  and  he 
took  another,  and  they  rowed  away  together, 
— just  as  you  may  .still  see,  off  the  far 
western  coast,  wife  and  husband  rowing  to- 
gether, when  the  fishing-boats  flit  into  the 
evening  gold. 

They  rowed  away  softly  and  swiftly  over 
the  silent  blue  water  down  into  the  south, — 
till  they  came  to  the  island  where  summer 
never  dies,  — and  to  the  palace  of  the  Dragon 
King  of  the  Sea. 

[Here  the  text  of  the  little  book  suddenly 
shrinks  away  as  you  read,  and  faint  blue 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  7 


ripplings  flood  tlie  page ; and  beyond  them 
in  a fairy  horizon  you  can  see  the  long  low 
soft  shore  of  the  island,  and  peaked  roofs 
rising  through  evergreen  foliage  — the  roofs  of 
the  Sea  God’s  palace  — like  the  palace  of  the 
Miltado  Yuriaku,  fourteen  hundred  and  six- 
teen years  ago.] 

There  strange  servitors  came  to  receive  them 
in  robes  of  ceremony  — creatures  of  the  Sea, 
who  paid  greeting  to  Urashima  as  the  son-in- 
law  of  the  Dragon  King. 

So  the  Sea  God’s  daughter  became  the  bride 
of  Urashima ; and  it  was  a bridal  of  wondrous 
splendor;  and  in  the  Dragon  Palace  there 
was  great  rejoicing. 

And  each  day  for  Urashima  there  were  new 
wonders  and  new  pleasures : — wonders  of  the 
deepest  deep  brought  up  by  the  servants  of 
the  Ocean  God ; — pleasures  of  that  enchanted 
land  where  summer  never  dies.  And  so  three 
years  passed. 

But  in  spite  of  all  these  things,  the  fisher- 
boy  felt  always  a heaviness  at  his  heart  when 
he  thought  of  his  pai’ents  waiting  alone.  So 
that  at  last  he  prayed  his  bride  to  let  him  go 
home  for  a little  while  only,  just  to  say  one 


8 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


word  to  Ills  father  and  mother,  — after  which 
he  would  hasten  hack  to  her. 

At  these  words  she  began  to  weep  ; and  for 
a long  time  she  continued  to  weep  silently. 
Then  she  said  to  him : “ Since  you  wish  to 
go,  of  course  you  must  go.  I fear  your  going 
very  much ; I fear  we  shall  never  see  each 
other  again.  But  I will  give  you  a little  box 
to  take  with  you.  It  will  help  you  to  come 
back  to  me  if  you  will  do  what  I tell  you.  Do 
not  open  it.  Above  all  things,  do  not  open  it, 
— no  matter  what  may  happen  ! Because,  if 
you  open  it,  you  will  never  be  able  to  come 
back,  and  you  will  never  see  me  again.” 

Then  she  gave  him  a little  lacquered  box 
tied  about  with  a silken  cord.  [And  that 
box  can  be  seen  unto  this  day  in  the  temple 
of  Kanagawa,  by  the  seashore ; and  the 
priests  there  also  keep  Urashima  Taro’s  fish- 
ing line,  and  some  strange  jewels  which  he 
brought  back  with  him  from  the  realm  of  the 
Dragon  King.] 

But  Urashima  comforted  his  bride,  and 
promised  her  never,  never  to  open  the  box* — 
never  even  to  loosen  the  silken  string.  Then 
he  passed  away  through  the  summer  light  over 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  9 

the  ever-sleeping  sea ; — and  the  shape  o£  the 
island  where  summer  never  dies  faded  behind 
him  like  a dream ; — and  he  saw  again  before 
him  the  blue  mountains  of  Japan,  sharpening 
in  the  white  glow  of  the  northern  horizon. 

Again  at  last  he  glided  into  his  native  bay ; 
~ again  he  stood  upon  its  beach.  But  as  he 
looked,  there  came  upon  him  a great  bewilder- 
ment, — a weird  doubt. 

For  the  place  was  at  once  the  same,  and  yet 
not  the  same.  The  cottage  of  his  fathers  had 
disappeared.  There  was  a village  ; but  the 
shapes  of  the  houses  were  aU  strange,  and  the 
trees  were  strange,  and  the  fields,  and  even 
the  faces  of  the  people.  Nearly  all  remem- 
bered landmarks  were  gone  ; — the  Shinto 
temple  appeared  to  have  been  rebuilt  in  a new 
place  ; the  woods  had  vanished  from  the  neigh- 
boring slopes.  Only  the  voice  of  the  little 
stream  flowing  through  the  settlement,  and 
the  forms  of  the  mountains,  were  still  the 
same.  All  else  was  unfamiliar  and  new.  In 
vain  he  tried  to  find  the  dwelling  of  his  par- 
ents; and  the  fisherfolk  stared  wonderingly 
at  him ; and  he  could  not  remember  having 
ever  seen  any  of  those  faces  before. 


10 


OUT  QJF  THE  EAST 


There  came  along  a very  old  man,  leaning 
on  a stick,  and  Urashima  asked  him  the  way 
to  the  house  of  the  Urashima  family.  But  the 
old  man  looked  quite  astonished,  and  made 
him  repeat  the  question  many  times,  and  then 
cried  out : — 

“ Urashima  Taro ! Where  do  you  come 
from  that  you  do  not  know  the  story  ? Ura- 
shima Taro ! Why,  it  is  more  than  four 
hundred  years  since  he  was  drowned,  and  a 
monument  is  erected  to  his  memory  in  the 
graveyard.  The  graves  of  all  his  people  are 
in  that  graveyard,  — the  old  graveyard  which 
is  not  now  used  any  more.  Urashima  Taro  ! 
How  can  you  be  so  foolish  as  to  ask  where 
his  house  is  ? ” And  the  old  man  hobbled  on, 
laughing  at  the  simplicity  of  his  questioner. 

But  Urashima  went  to  the  village  grave- 
yard, — the  old  graveyard  that  was  not  used 
any  more,  — and  there  he  found  his  own  tomb- 
stone, and  the  tombstones  of  his  father  and 
his  mother  and  his  kindred,  and  the  tomb- 
stones of  many  others  he  had  Icnown.  So  old 
tkey  were,  so  moss-eaten,  that  it  was  very 
hard  to  read  the  names  upon  them. 

Then  he  knew  himself  the  victim  of  some 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  11 

strange  illusion,  and  he  took  his  way  back  to 
the  beach,  — always  carrying  in  his  hand  the 
box,  the  gift  of  the  Sea  God’s  daughter.  But 
what  was  this  illusion  ? And  what  could  be 
in  that  box?  Or  might  not  that  which  was 
in  the  box  be  the  cause  of  the  illusion  ? 
Doubt  mastered  faith.  Recklessly  he  broke 
the  promise  made  to  his  beloved ; — he  loos- 
ened the  silken  cord ; — he  opened  the  box ! 

Instantly,  without  any  sound,  there  burst 
from  it  a white  cold  spectral  vapor  that  rose 
in  air  like  a summer  cloud,  and  began  to  drift 
away  swiftly  into  the  south,  over  the  silent 
sea.  There  was  nothing  else  in  the  box. 

And  Urashima  then  knew  that  he  had  de- 
stroyed his  own  happiness,  — that  he  could 
never  again  return  to  his  beloved,  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  Ocean  King.  So  that  he  wept  and 
cried  out  bitterly  in  his  despair. 

Yet  for  a moment  only.  In  another,  he 
himself  was  changed.  An  icy  chill  shot 
through  all  his  blood ; — his  teeth  fell  out ; 
his  face  shriveled ; his  hair  turned  white  as 
snow ; his  limbs  withered ; his  strength  ebbed ; 
he  sank  down  lifeless  on  the  sand,  crushed 
by  the  weight  of  four  hundred  winters. 


12 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


Now  in  the  official  annals  of  the  Emperors 
it  is  written  that  “ in  the  twenty-first  year  of 
the  Mikado  Yuriaku,  the  boy  Urashima  of 
Midzunoye,  in  the  district  of  Yosa,  in  the 
province  of  Tango,  a descendant  of  the  divin- 
ity Shimanemi,  went  to  Elysium  \_IIdrai']  in 
a fishing-boat.”  After  this  there  is  no  more 
news  of  Urashima  during  the  reigns  of  thirty- 
one  emperors  and  empresses  — that  is,  from 
the  fifth  until  the  ninth  century.  And  then 
the  annals  announce  that  “ in  the  second  year 
of  Tenchiyo,  in  the  reign  of  the  Mikado  Go- 
Junwa,  the  boy  Urashima  returned,  and  pres- 
ently departed  again,  none  knew  whither.”  ^ 

III 

The  fairy  mistress  came  back  to  tell  me  that 
everything  was  ready,  and  tried  to  lift  my 
valise  in  her  slender  hands,  — which  I pre- 
vented her  from  doing,  because  it  was  heavy. 
Then  she  laughed,  but  would  not  suffer  that  I 
should  carry  it  myself,  and  summoned  a sea- 

^ See  The  Classical  Poetry  of  the  Japanese,  by  Professor 
Chamberlain,  in  Triibner’s  Oriental  Series.  According  to 
Western  chronology,  Urashima  went  fishing  in  477  A.  D., 
and  returned  in  825. 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  13 


creature  with  Chinese  characters  upon  his 
back.  I made  obeisance  to  her ; and  she 
prayed  me  to  remember  the  unworthy  house 
despite  the  rudeness  of  the  maidens.  “ And 
you  will  pay  the  kurumaya,”  she  said,  “ only 
seventy-five  sen.” 

Then  I slipped  into  the  vehicle  ; and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  little  gray  town  had  vanished 
behind  a curve.  I was  rolling  along  a white 
road  overlooking  the  shore.  To  the  right  were 
pale  brown  cliffs ; to  the  left  only  space  and 
sea. 

Mile  after  mile  I rolled  along  that  shore, 
looking  into  the  infinite  light.  All  was 
steeped  in  blue,  — a marvelous  blue,  like  that 
which  comes  and  goes  in  the  heart  of  a great 
shell.  Glowing  blue  sea  met  hoUow  blue  sky 
in  a brightness  of  electric  fusion ; and  vast 
blue  apparitions  — the  mountains  of  Higo  — 
angled  up  through  the  blaze,  like  masses  of 
amethyst.  What  a blue  transparency ! The 
universal  color  was  broken  only  by  the  daz- 
zling white  of  a few  high  summer  .clouds,  mo- 
tionlessly curled  above  one  phantom  peak  in 
the  offing.  They  threw  down  upon  the  water 
snowy  tremulous  lights.  Midges  of  ships 


14 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


creeping  far  away  seemed  to  pull  long  threads 
after  them,  — the  only  sharp  lines  in  all  that 
hazy  glory.  But  what  divine  clouds  ! White 
purified  spirits  of  clouds,  resting  on  their  way 
to  the  beatitude  of  Nirvana  ? Or  perhaps  the 
mists  escaped  from  Urashima’s  box  a thousand 
years  ago  ? 

The  gnat  of  the  soul  of  me  flitted  out  into 
that  dream  of  blue,  ’twixt  sea  and  sun, — 
hummed  back  to  the  shore  of  Suminoye 
through  the  luminous  ghosts  of  fourteen  hun- 
dred summers.  Vaguely  I felt  beneath  me 
the  drifting  of  a keel.  It  was  the  time  of  the 
Mikado  Yuriaku.  And  the  Daughter  of  the 
Dragon  King  said  tinklingly, — “ Now  we  will 
go  to  my  father’s  palace  where  it  is  always 
blue.”  “ Why  always  blue?  ” I asked.  “ Be- 
cause,” she  said,  “ I put  all  the  clouds  into 
the  Box.”  “ But  I must  go  home,”  I answered 
resolutely.  “ Then,”  she  said,  “ you  will  pay 
the  kurumaya  only  seventy-five  sen.” 

Wherewith  I woke  into  Doyo,  or  the  Period 
of  Greatest  Heat,  in  the  twenty-sixth  year  of 
Meiji  — and  saw  proof  of  the  era  in  a line 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  15 

of  telegraph  poles  reaching  out  of  sight  on 
the  land  side  of  the  way.  The  kuruma  was 
still  fleeing  by  the  shore,  before  the  same  blue 
vision  of  sky,  peak,  and  sea;  but  the  white 
clouds  were  gone  ! — and  there  were  no  more 
cliffs  close  to  the  road,  but  fields  of  rice  and 
of  barley  stretching  to  far-off  hills.  The  tele- 
graph lines  absorbed  my  attention  for  a mo- 
ment, because  on  the  top  wire,  and  only  on 
the  top  wire,  hosts  of  little  birds  were  perched, 
all  with  their  heads  to  the  road,  and  nowise 
disturbed  by  our  coming.  They  remained 
quite  still,  looking  down  upon  us  as  mere  pass- 
ing phenomena.  There  were  hundreds  and 
hundreds  in  rank,  for  miles  and  miles.  And  I 
coidd  not  see  one  having  its  tail  turned  to  the 
road.  ^\Tiy  they  sat  thus,  and  what  they  were 
watching  or  waiting  for,  I could  not  guess. 
At  intervals  I waved  my  hat  and  shouted,  to 
startle  the  ranks.  Whereupon  a few  would 
rise  up  fluttering  and  chippering,  and  drop 
back  again  upon  the  wire  in  the  same  posi- 
tion as  before.  The  vast  majority  refused  to 
take  me  seriously. 

The  sharp  rattle  of  the  wheels  was  drowned 


16 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


by  a deep  booming ; and  as  we  whirled  past 
a village  I caught  sight  of  an  immense  drum 
under  an  open  shed,  beaten  by  naked  men. 

“ O kurumaya  ! ” I shouted  — “ that  — what 
is  it?” 

He,  withoixt  stopping,  shouted  back  : — 

“ Everywhere  now  the  same  thing  is. 
Much  time-in  rain  has  not  been  : so  the  gods= 
to  prayers  are  made,  and  drums  are  beaten.” 

We  flashed  through  other  villages;  and  I 
saw  and  heard  more  drums  of  various  sizes, 
and  from  hamlets  invisible,  over  miles  of 
parching  rice-fields,  yet  other  drums,  like  echo- 
ings,  responded. 


IV 

Then  I began  to  think  about  Urashima 
again.  I thought  of  the  pictures  and  poems 
and  proverbs  recording  the  influence  of  the 
legend  upon  the  imagination  of  a race.  I 
thought  of  an  Izumo  dancing-girl  I saw  at  a 
banquet  acting  the  part  of  Urashima,  with 
a little  lacquered  box  whence  there  issued  at 
the  tragical  minute  a mist  of  Kyoto  incense. 
I thought  about  the  antiquity  of  the  beautiful 
dance,  — and  therefore  about  vanished  gener- 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  17 


ations  of  dancing-girls,  — and  therefore  about 
dust  in  the  abstract ; which,  again,  led  me  to 
think  of  dust  in  the  concrete,  as  bestirred  by 
the  sandals  of  the  kurumaya  to  whom  I was  to 
pay  only  seventy-five  sen.  And  I wondered 
how  much  of  it  might  be  old  human  dust,  and 
whether  in  the  eternal  order  of  things  the  mo- 
tion of  hearts  might  be  of  more  consequence 
than  the  motion  of  dust.  Then  my  ancestral 
morality  took  alarm ; and  I tried  to  persuade 
myself  that  a story  which  had  lived  for  a thou- 
sand years,  gaining  fresher  charm  with  the 
passing  of  every  century,  could  only  have  sur- 
vived by  virtue  of  some  truth  in  it.  But  what 
truth?  For  the  time  being  I could  find  no 
answer  to  this  question. 

The  heat  had  become  very  great;  and  I 
cried,  — 

“ O kurumaya  ! the  throat  of  Selfishness  is 
dry  ; water  desirable  is.” 

He,  still  nmning,  answered : — 

“ The  Village  of  the  Long  Beach  inside  of 
■ — not  far  — a great  gush-water  is.  There 
pure  august  water  will  be  given.” 

I cried  again : — 


18 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


“ O kurumaya ! — those  little  birds  as-for, 
why  this  way  always  facing  ? ” 

He,  running  still  more  swiftly,  responded : — • 
“ All  birds  wind-to  facing  sit.” 

I laugbed  first  at  my  o^vn  simplicity ; tben 
at  my  forgetfulness,  — remembering  I bad 
been  told  tbe  same  thing,  somewhere  or  other, 
when  a boy.  Perhaps  tbe  mystery  of  Ura- 
shima  might  also  have  been  created  by  forget- 
fulness. 

I thought  again  about  Urasbima.  I saw 
tbe  Daughter  of  tbe  Dragon  King  waiting 
vainly  in  tbe  palace  made  beautiful  for  bis 
welcome,  — and  tbe  pitiless  return  of  tbe 
Cloud,  announcing  what  bad  happened,  — and 
tbe  loving  uncouth  sea-creatures,  in  their  gar- 
ments of  great  ceremony,  trying  to  comfort 
her.  But  in  tbe  real  story  there  was  nothing 
of  all  this  ; and  tbe  pity  of  tbe  people  seemed 
to  be  all  for  Urasbima.  And  I began  to  dis- 
course with  myself  thus  : — 

Is  it  right  to  pity  Urasbima  at  all?  Of 
course  he  was  bewildered  by  tbe  gods.  But 
who  is  not  bewildered  by  tbe  gods?  What 
is  Life  itself  but  a bewilderment?  And 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  19 

Urasliima  in  liis  bewilderment  doubted  tbe 
purpose  of  tbe  gods,  and  opened  the  box. 
Then  he  died  without  any  trouble,  and  the 
people  built  a shrine  to  him  as  Urashima 
Mio-jin.  Why,  then,  so  much  pity  ? 

Thing’s  are  quite  differently  managed  in  the 
West.  After  disobeying  Western  gods,  we 
have  stni  to  remain  alive  and  to  learn  the 
height  and  the  breadth  and  the  depth  of 
superlative  sorrow.  We  are  not  allowed  to 
die  quite  comfortably  just  at  the  best  possible 
time:  much  less  are  we  suffered  to  become 
after  death  small  gods  in  our  own  right. 
How  can  we  pity  the  folly  of  Urashima  after 
he  had  lived  so  long  alone  with  visible  gods. 

Perhaps  the  fact  that  we  do  may  answer 
the  riddle.  This  pity  must  be  self-pity ; 
wherefore  the  legend  may  be  the  legend  of  a 
myriad  souls.  The  thought  of  it  comes 
just  at  a particular  time  of  blue  light  and 
soft  wind,  — and  always  like  an  old  reproach. 
It  has  too  intimate  relation  to  a season  and 
the  feeling  of  a season  not  to  be  also  related 
to  something  real  in  one’s  life,  or  in  the  lives 
of  one’s  ancestors.  But  what  was  that  real 
something?  Who  was  the  Daughter  of  the 


20 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


Dragon  King  ? Where  was  the  island  of 
unending  summer  ? And  what  was  the  cloud 
in  the  box  ? 

I cannot  answer  all  those  questions.  I 
know  this  only,  — which  is  not  at  all  new : — 

I have  memory  of  a place  and  a magical 
time  in  which  the  Sun  and  the  Moon  were 
larger  and  brighter  than  now.  Whether  it 
was  of  this  life  or  of  some  life  before  I can- 
not tell.  But  I know  the  sky  was  very  much 
more  blue,  and  nearer  to  the  world,  — almost 
as  it  seems  to  become  above  the  masts  of  a 
steamer  steaming  into  equatorial  summer. 
The  sea  was  alive,  and  used  to  talk,  — and 
the  Wind  made  me  cry  out  for  joy  when  it 
touched  me.  Once  or  twice  during  other 
years,  in  divine  days  lived  among  the  peaks, 
I have  dreamed  just  for  a moment  that  the 
same  wind  was  blowing,  — but  it  was  only  a 
remembrance. 

Also  in  that  place  the  clouds  were  won- 
derful, and  of  colors  for  which  there  are  no 
names  at  all,  — colors  that  used  to  make  me 
hungry  and  thirsty.  I remember,  too,  that 
the  days  were  ever  so  much  longer  than  these 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  21 


days,  — and  that  every  day  there  were  new 
wonders  and  new  pleasures  for  me.  And  all 
that  country  and  time  were  softly  rided  by 
One  who  thought  only  of  ways  to  make  me 
happy.  Sometimes  I would  refuse  to  be 
made  happy,  and  that  always  caused  her 
pain,  although  she  was  divine;  — and  I re- 
member that  I tried  very  hard  to  be  sorry. 
When  day  was  done,  and  there  fell  the  great 
hush  of  the  bght  before  moonrise,  she  would 
teU  me  stories  that  made  me  tingle  from  head 
to  foot  with  pleasure.  I have  never  heard 
any  other  stories  half  so  beautiful.  And  when 
the  pleasure  became  too  greatj  she  would  sing 
a weird  little  song  which  always  brought 
sleep.  At  last  there  came  a parting  day ; and 
she  wept,  and  told  me  of  a charm  she  had 
given  that  I must  never,  never  lose,  because 
it  would  keep  me  young,  and  give  me  power 
to  return.  But  I never  returned.  And  the 
years  went ; and  one  day  I knew  that  I had 
lost  the  charm,  and  had  become  ridiculously 
old. 


22 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


V 

The  Village  of  the  Long  Beach  is  at  the 
foot  of  a green  cliff  near  the  road,  and  con- 
sists of  a dozen  thatched  cottages  clustered 
about  a rocky  pool,  shaded  by  pines.  The 
basin  overflows  with  cold  water,  supplied  by  a 
stream  that  leaps  straight  from  the  heart  of 
the  cliff,  — just  as  folks  imagine  that  a poem 
ought  to  spring  straight  from  the  heart  of  a 
poet.  It  was  evidently  a favorite  halting- 
place,  judging  by  the  number  of  kuruma  and 
of  people  resting.  There  were  benches  under 
the  trees ; and,  after  having  allayed  thirst,  I 
sat  down  to  smoke  and  to  look  at  the  women 
washing  clothes  and  the  travelers  refreshing 
themselves  at  the  pool,  — while  my  kurumaya 
stripped,  and  proceeded  to  dash  buckets  of 
cold  water  over  his  body.  Then  tea  was 
brought  me  by  a young  man  with  a baby  on 
his  back ; and  I tried  to  play  with  the  baby, 
which  said  “ Ah,  bah ! ” 

Such  are  the  first  sounds  uttered  by  a Jap- 
anese babe.  But  they  are  purely  Oriental; 
and  in  Romaji  shoidd  be  written  Aba.  And, 
as  an  utterance  untaught.  Aba  is  interesting. 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  23 


It  is  in  Japanese  child-speech  the  word  for 
“good-by,”  — precisely  the  last  we  would  ex- 
pect an  infant  to  pronounce  on  entering  into 
this  world  of  illusion.  To  whom  or  to  what 
is  the  little  soul  saying  good-hy  ? — to  friends 
in  a previous  state  of  existence  still  freshly 
remembered  ? — to  comrades  of  its  shadowy 
journey  from  nobody  - knows  - where  ? Such 
theorizing  is  tolerably  safe,  from  a pious 
point  of  view,  since  the  child  can  never  de- 
cide for  us.  What  its  thoughts  were  at  that 
mysterious  moment  of  first  speech,  it  will  have 
forgotten  long  before  it  has  become  able  to 
answer  questions. 

Unexpectedly,  a queer  recollection  came  to 
me,  — resurrected,  perhaps,  by  the  sight  of 
the  yoimg  man  with  the  baby,  — perhaps  by 
the  song  of  the  water  in  the  cliff : the  recol- 
lection of  a story : — 

Long,  long  ago  there  lived  somewhere 
among  the  moimtains  a poor  wood-cutter  and 
his  wife.  They  were  very  old,  and  had  no 
children.  Every  day  the  husband  went  alone 
to  the  forest  to  cut  wood,  while  the  wife  sat 
weaving  at  home. 


24 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


One  day  the  old  man  went  farther  into  the 
forest  than  was  his  custom,  to  seek  a certain 
kind  of  wood  ; and  he  suddenly  found  himself 
at  the  edge  of  a little  spring  he  had  never 
seen  before.  The  water  was  strangely  clear 
and  cold,  and  he  was  thirsty  ; for  the  day  was 
hot,  and  he  had  been  working  hard.  So  he 
doffed  his  great  straw  hat,  knelt  down,  and 
took  a long  drink.  That  water  seemed  to 
refresh  him  in  a most  extraordinary  way. 
Then  he  caught  sight  of  his  own  face  in  the 
spring,  and  started  back.  It  was  certainly  his 
own  face,  but  not  at  all  as  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  see  it  in  the  old  mirror  at  home. 
It  was  the  face  of  a very  young  man ! He 
could  not  believe  his  eyes.  He  put  up  both 
hands  to  his  head,  which  had  been  quite  bald 
only  a moment  before.  It  was  covered  with 
thick  black  hair.  And  his  face  had  become 
smooth  as  a boy’s ; every  wrinkle  was  gone. 
At  the  same  moment  he  discovered  himself 
full  of  new  strength.  He  stared  in  astonish- 
ment at  the  limbs  that  had  been  so  long 
withered  by  age ; they  were  now  shapely  and 
hard  with  dense  young  muscle.  Unknowingly 
he  had  drimk  at  the  Fountain  of  Youth;  and 
that  draught  had  transformed  him. 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  25 


First,  he  leaped  high  and  shouted  for  joy ; 
then  he  ran  home  faster  than  he  had  ever  run 
before  in  his  life.  When  he  entered  his  house 
his  wife  was  frightened,  — because  she  took 
him  for  a stranger ; and  when  he  told  her  the 
wonder,  she  could  not  at  once  believe  him. 
But  after  a long  time  he  was  able  to  convince 
her  that  the  yoimg  man  she  now  saw  before 
her  was  really  her  husband ; and  he  told  her 
where  the  spring  was,  and  asked  her  to  go 
there  with  him. 

Then  she  said : “ You  have  become  so 
handsome  and  so  young  that  you  cannot  con- 
tinue to  love  an  old  woman ; — so  I must 
drink  some  of  that  water  immediately.  But 
it  will  never  do  for  both  of  us  to  be  away 
from  the  house  at  the  same  time.  Do  you 
wait  here  while  I go.”  And  she  ran  to  the 
woods  all  by  herself. 

She  found  the  spring  and  knelt  down,  and 
began  to  drink.  Oh  ! how  cool  and  sweet  that 
water  was ! She  drank  and  drank  and  drank, 
and  stopped  for  breath  only  to  begin  again. 

Her  husband  waited  for  her  impatiently ; 
he  expected  to  see  her  come  back  changed  into 
a pretty  slender  girl.  But  she  did  not  come 


26 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


back  at  all.  He  got  anxious,  sbut  up  tbe 
bouse,  and.  went  to  look  for  her. 

When  he  reached  the  spring,  he  could  not 
see  her.  He  was  just  on  the  point  of  return- 
ing when  he  heard  a little  wail  in  the  high 
grass  near  the  spring.  He  searched  there  and 
discovered  his  wife’s  clothes  and  a baby,  — a 
very  small  baby,  perhaps  six  months  old ! 

For  the  old  woman  had  drunk  too  deeply  of 
the  magical  water  ; she  had  drunk  herself  far 
back  beyond  the  time  of  youth  into  the  period 
of  speechless  infancy. 

He  took  up  the  child  in  his  arms.  It  looked 
at  him  in  a sad,  wondering  way.  He  carried  it 
home,  — murmuring  to  it,  — thinking  strange, 
melancholy  thoughts. 

In  that  hour,  after  my  reverie  about  Ura- 
shima,  the  moral  of  this  story  seemed  less 
satisfactory  than  in  former  time.  Because  by 
drinking  too  deeply  of  life  we  do  not  become 
young. 

Naked  and  cool  my  kurumaya  returned, 
and  said  that  because  of  the  heat  he  could  not 
finish  the  promised  run  of  twenty-five  miles. 


THE  DREAM  OF  A SUMMER  DAY  27 

but  tbat  be  bad  found  another  runner  to  take 
me  tbe  rest  of  tbe  way.  For  so  mucb  as  be 
bimself  bad  done,  be  wanted  fifty-five  sen. 

It  was  reaUy  very  hot  — more  than  100° 
I afterwards  learned ; and  far  away  there 
throbbed  continually,  like  a pulsation  of  tbe 
beat  itself,  the  sound  of  great  drums  beating 
for  rain.  And  I thought  of  tbe  Daughter  of 
tbe  Dragon  King. 

“ Seventy-five  sen,  she  told  me,”  I observed ; 
— “ and  tbat  promised  to  be  done  has  not 
been  done.  Nevertheless,  seventy-five  sen  to 
you  shall  be  given,  - — because  I am  afraid  of 
tbe  gods.” 

And  behind  a yet  unwearied  nmner  I fled 
away  into  tbe  enormous  blaze  — in  tbe  direc- 
tion of  tbe  great  drums. 


n 


WITH  KTtjSHtI  STUDENTS 
I 

The  students  of  the  Government  College,  or 
Higher  Middle  School,  can  scarcely  be  called 
boys ; their  ages  ranging  from  the  average  of 
eighteen,  for  the  lowest  class,  to  that  of  twenty- 
five  for  the  highest.  Perhaps  the  course  is 
too  long.  The  best  puj^il  can  hardly  hope 
to  reach  the  Imperial  University  before  his 
twenty-third  year,  and  wiU  require  for  his  en- 
trance thereinto  a mastery  of  wi’itten  Chinese 
as  well  as  a good  practical  knowledge  of 
either  English  and  German,  or  of  English 
and  French.^  Thus  he  is  obliged  to  learn 

1 This  essay  was  written  early  in  1894.  Since  then,  the 
study  of  French  and  of  German  has  been  made  optional  in- 
stead of  obligatory,  and  the  Higher  School  course  consider- 
ably shortened,  by  a wise  decision  of  the  late  Minister  of 
Education,  hlr.  Inouye.  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  measures 
will  eventually  be  taken  to  render  possible  making  the 
study  of  English  also  optional.  Under  existing  conditions 
the  study  is  forced  upon  hundreds  who  can  never  obtain  any 
benefit  from  it. 


WITH  KTUSHtJ  STUDENTS 


29 


three  languages  besides  all  that  relates  to  the 
elegant  literature  of  his  own ; and  the  weight 
of  his  task  cannot  be  understood  without 
knowledge  of  the  fact  that  his  study  of 
Chinese  alone  is  equal  to  the  labor  of  acquir- 
ing six  Eiu-opean  tongues. 

The  impression  produced  upon  me  by  the 
Kumamoto  students  was  very  different  from 
that  received  on  my  first  acquaintance  with 
my  Izumo  pupils.  This  was  not  only  because 
the  former  had  left  well  behind  them  the 
delightfully  amiable  period  of  Japanese  boy- 
hood, and  had  developed  into  earnest,  taciturn 
men,  but  also  because  they  represented  to  a 
marked  degree  what  is  called  Kyushu  charac- 
ter. Kyushu  still  remains,  as  of  yore,  the 
most  conservative  part  of  Japan,  and  Kuma- 
moto, its  chief  city,  the  centre  of  conservative 
feeling.  This  conservatism  is,  however,  both 
rational  and  practical.  Kyushu  was  not  slow 
in  adopting  raiffoads,  improved  methods  of 
agriculture,  applications  of  science  to  certain 
industries ; but  remains  of  all  districts  of  the 
Empire  the  least  inclined  to  imitation  of 
Western  manners  and  customs.  The  ancient 
samurai  spirit  still  lives  on ; and  that  spirit 


30 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


in  Kyushu  was  for  centuries  one  that  exacted 
severe  simplicity  in  habits  of  life.  Sumptuary 
laws  against  extravagance  in  dress  and  other 
forms  of  luxury  used  to  be  rigidly  enforced  ; 
and  though  the  laws  themselves  have  been 
obsolete  for  a generation,  their  influence  con- 
tinues to  appear  in  the  very  simple  attire  and 
the  plain,  direct  manners  of  the  people. 
Kumamoto  folk  are  also  said  to  be  charac- 
terized by  their  adherence  to  traditions  of 
conduct  which  have  been  almost  forgotten 
elsewhere,  and  by  a certain  independent  frank- 
ness in  speech  and  action,  difficult  for  any 
foreigner  to  define,  but  immediately  apparent 
to  an  educated  Japanese.  And  here,  too, 
under  the  shadow  of  Kiyomasa’s  mighty  for- 
tress, — now  occupied  by  an  immense  garrison, 
• — national  sentiment  is  declared  to  be  stronger 
than  in  the  very  capital  itself,  — the  spirit  of 
loyalty  and  the  love  of  country.  Kumamoto 
is  proud  of  all  these  things,  and  boasts  of  her 
traditions.  Indeed,  she  has  nothing  else  to 
boast  of.  A vast,  straggling,  dull,  unsightly 
town  is  Kumamoto : there  are  no  quaint, 
pretty  streets,  no  great  temples,  no  wonderful 
gardens.  Burnt  to  the  ground  in  the  civil 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


31 


war  of  the  tenth  Meiji,  the  place  still  gives 
you  the  impression  of  a wilderness  of  flimsy 
shelters  erected  in  haste  almost  before  the  soil 
had  ceased  to  smoke.  There  are  no  remark- 
able places  to  visit  (not,  at  least,  within  city 
limits),  — no  sights,  — few  amusements.  For 
this  very  reason  the  college  is  thought  to  be 
well  located  : there  are  neither  temptations 
nor  distractions  for  its  inmates.  But  for 
another  reason,  also,  rich  men  far  away  in  the 
capital  try  to  send  their  sons  to  Kumamoto. 
It  is  considered  desirable  that  a young  man 
should  be  imbued  with  what  is  called  “ the 
Kyushu  spirit,”  and  should  acquire  what 
might  be  termed  the  Kyushu  “ tone.”  The 
students  of  Kumamoto  are  said  to  be  the  most 
peculiar  students  in  the  Empire  by  reason  of 
this  “ tone.”  I have  never  been  able  to 
learn  enough  about  it  to  define  it  well ; but  it 
is  evidently  a something  akin  to  the  deport- 
ment of  the  old  Kyushu  samurai.  Certainly 
the  students  sent  from  Tokyo  or  Kyoto  to 
Kyushu  have  to  adapt  themselves  to  a very  dif- 
ferent milieu.  The  Kumamoto,  and  also  the 
Kagoshima  youths,  — • whenever  not  obliged  to 
don  military  uniform  for  drill-hours  and  other 


82 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


special  occasions,  — still  cling  to  a costume 
somewhat  resembling  that  of  the  ancient  hushi, 
and  therefore  celebrated  in  sword-songs  “ 
the  short  robe  and  hakama  reaching  a little 
below  the  knee,  and  sandals.  The  material  of 
the  dress  is  cheap,  coarse,  and  sober  in  color ; 
cleft  stockings  (tahi)  are  seldom  worn,  ex- 
cept in  very  cold  weather,  or  during  long 
marches,  to  keep  the  sandal-thongs  from  cut- 
ting into  the  flesh.  Without  being  rough,  the 
manners  are  not  soft ; and  the  lads  seem  to 
cultivate  a certain  outward  hardness  of  char- 
licter.  They  can  preserve  an  imperturbable 
exterior  under  quite  extraordinary  circum- 
stances , but  under  this  self-control  there  is 
a fiery  consciousness  of  strength  which  will 
show  itself  in  a menacing  form  on  rare  occa- 
sions. They  deserve  to  be  termed  rugged 
men,  too,  in  their  own  Oriental  way.  Some 
I know,  who,  though  born  to  comparative 
wealth,  find  no  pleasure  so  keen  as  that  of 
trying  how  much  physical  hardship  they  can 
endure.  The  greater  number  would  certainly 
give  up  their  lives  without  hesitation  rather 
than  their  high  principles.  And  a rumor  of 
national  danger  would  instantly  transform  the 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


33 


whole  four  hundred  into  a body  of  iron  sol- 
diery. But  their  outward  demeanor  is  usually 
impassive  to  a degree  that  is  difficult  even  to 
understand. 

For  a long  time  I used  to  wonder  in  vain 
what  feelings,  sentiments,  ideas  might  he 
hidden  beneath  all  that  imsmiling  placidity. 
The  native  teachers,  de  facto  government 
ofiicials,  did  not  appear  to  be  on  intimate 
terms  with  any  of  their  pupils : there  was  no 
trace  of  that  affectionate  familiarity  I had 
seen  in  Izumo ; the  relation  between  instruc- 
tors and  instructed  seemed  to  begin  and  end 
with  the  bugle-caUs  by  which  classes  were 
assembled  and  dismissed.  In  this  I after- 
wards found  myself  partly  mistaken ; stiff  such 
relations  as  actually  existed  were  for  the  most 
part  formal  rather  than  natural,  and  quite 
unlike  those  old-fashioned,  loving  sympathies 
of  which  the  memory  had  always  remained 
with  me  since  my  departure  from  the  Province 
of  the  Gods. 

But  later  on,  at  frequent  intervals,  there 
came  to  me  suggestions  of  an  inner  life  much 
more  attractive  than  this  outward  seeming,  — 
hints  of  emotional  individuality.  A few  I 


34 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


obtained  in  casual  conversations,  but  the  most 
remarkable  in  wi-itten  themes.  Subjects  given 
for  composition  occasionally  coaxed  out  some 
totally  unexpected  blossoming  of  thoughts 
and  feelings.  A very  pleasing  fact  was  the 
total  absence  of  any  false  shyness,  or  indeed 
shyness  of  any  sort : the  young  men  were  not 
ashamed  to  write  exactly  what  they  felt  or 
hoped.  They  would  write  about  their  homes, 
about  their  reverential  love  to  their  parents, 
about  happy  experiences  of  their  childhood, 
about  their  friendships,  about  their  adventures 
during  the  holidays ; and  this  often  in  a way  I 
thought  beautifid,  because  of  its  artless,  abso- 
lute sincerity.  After  a number  of  such  sur- 
prises, I learned  to  regret  keenly  that  I had 
not  from  the  outset  kept  notes  upon  all  the 
remarkable  compositions  received.  Once  a 
week  I used  to  read  aloud  and  correct  in  class 
a selection  from  the  best  handed  in,  correct- 
ing the  remainder  at  home.  The  very  best  I 
could  not  always  presume  to  read  aloud  and 
criticise  for  the  general  benefit,  because  treat- 
ing of  matters  too  sacred  to  be  methodically 
commented  upon,  as  the  following  examjjles 
may  show. 


WITH  KYUSHtJ  STUDENTS 


35 


I had  given  as  a subject  for  English  compo- 
sition this  question : “ What  do  men  remem- 
ber longest?”  One  student  answered  that 
we  remember  our  happiest  moments  longer 
than  we  remember  all  other  experiences, 
because  it  is  in  the  nature  of  every  rational 
being  to  try  to  forget  what  is  disagreeable  or 
painful  as  soon  as  possible.  I received  many 
still  more  ingenious  answers,  — some  of  which 
gave  proof  of  a really  keen  psychological 
study  of  the  question.  But  I liked  best  of 
all  the  simple  reply  of  one  who  thought  that 
painfid  events  are  longest  remembered.  He 
wrote  exactly  what  follows : I found  it  need- 
less to  alter  a single  word : — 

“ What  do  men  remember  longest  ? I 
think  men  remember  longest  that  which  they 
hear  or  see  under  painfid  circumstances. 

“ When  I was  only  four  years  old,  my  dear, 
dear  mother  died.  ^ It  was  a winter’s  day. 
The  wind  was  blowing  hard  in  the  trees,  and 
round  the  roof  of  our  house.  There  were  no 
leaves  on  the  branches  of  the  trees.  Quails 
were  whistling  in  the  distance, — making  mel- 
ancholy sounds.  I recall  something  I did. 


36 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


As  my  mother  was  lying  in  bed,  — a little 
before  she  died,  — I gave  her  a sweet  orange. 
She  smiled  and  took  it,  and  tasted  it.  It  was 
the  last  time  she  smiled.  . . . From  the 
moment  when  she  ceased  to  breathe  to  this 
hour  more  than  sixteen  years  have  elapsed. 
But  to  me  the  time  is  as  a moment.  Now  also 
it  is  winter.  The  winds  that  blew  when  my 
mother  died  blow  just  as  then ; the  quails 
utter  the  same  cries ; all  things  are  the  same. 
But  my  mother  has  gone  away,  and  will  never 
come  back  again.” 

The  following,  also,  was  written  in  reply  to 
the  same  question  : — 

“ The  greatest  sorrow  in  my  life  was  my 
father’s  death.  I was  seven  years  old.  I can 
remember  that  he  had  been  ill  all  day,  and 
that  my  toys  had  been  put  aside,  and  that  I 
tried  to  be  very  quiet.  I had  not  seen  him 
that  morning,  and  the  day  seemed  very  long. 
At  last  I stole  into  my  father’s  room,  and  put 
my  lips  close  to  his  cheek,  and  whispered, 
‘‘Father  ! father  1 ’ — and  his  cheek  was  very 
cold.  He  did  not  speak.  My  uncle  came. 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


37 


and  carried  me  out  of  tte  room,  but  said 
nothing.  Then  I feared  my  father  would  die, 
because  his  cheek  felt  cold  just  as  my  little 
sister’s  had  been  when  she  died.  In  the  even- 
ing a great  many  neighbors  and  other  people 
came  to  the  house,  and  caressed  me,  so  that 
I was  happy  for  a time.  But  they  carried 
my  father  away  during  the  night,  and  I never 
saw  him  after.” 


n 

From  the  foregoing  one  might  suppose  a 
simple  style  characteristic  of  English  compo- 
sitions in  Japanese  higher  schools.  Yet  the 
reverse  is  the  fact.  There  is  a general  ten- 
dency to  prefer  big  words  to  little  ones,  and 
long  complicated  sentences  to  plain  short 
periods.  For  this  there  are  some  reasons 
which  would  need  a philological  essay  by  Pro- 
fessor Chamberlain  to  explain.  But  the  ten- 
dency in  itself  — constantly  strengthened  by 
the  absurd  text-books  in  use  — can  be  partly 
understood  from  the  fact  that  the  very  sim- 
plest forms  of  English  expression  are  the  most 
obscure  to  a Japanese, — -because  they  are 
idiomatic.  The  student  finds  them  riddles, 


38  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

since  the  root-ideas  behind  them  are  so  dif- 
ferent from  his  own  that,  to  explain  those 
ideas,  it  is  first  necessary  to  know  something 
of  Japanese  psychology;  and  in  avoiding  sim- 
ple idioms  he  follows  instinctively  the  direc- 
tion of  least  resistance. 

I tried  to  cultivate  an  opposite  tendency  by 
various  devices.  Sometimes  I would  write 
familiar  stories  for  the  class,  all  in  simple 
sentences,  and  in  words  of  one  syllable. 
Sometimes  I would  suggest  themes  to  write 
upon,  of  which  the  nature  almost  compelled 
simple  treatment.  Of  course  I was  not  very 
successful  in  my  purpose,  but  one  theme 
chosen  in  relation  to  it  — “ My  First  Day  at 
School  ” — evoked  a large  number  of  composi- 
tions that  interested  me  in  quite  another  way, 
as  revelations  of  sincerity  of  feeling  and  of 
character.  I offer  a few  selections,  slightly 
abridged  and  corrected.  Their  naivete  is  not 
their  least  charm,  — especially  if  one  reflect 
they  are  not  the  recollections  of  boys.  The 
following  seemed  to  me  one  of  the  best : — 

“ I could  not  go  to  school  until  I was  eight 
years  old.  I had  often  begged  my  father  to 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


39 


let  me  go,  for  all  my  playmates  were  already 
at  school ; but  he  would  not,  thinking  I was 
not  strong  enough.  So  I remained  at  home, 
and  played  with  my  brother. 

“ My  brother  accompanied  me  to  school  the 
first  day.  He  spoke  to  the  teacher,  and  then 
left  me.  The  teacher  took  me  into  a room,  and 
commanded  me  to  sit  on  a bench,  then  he  also 
left  me.  I felt  sad  as  I sat  there  in  silence  : 
there  was  no  brother  to  play  with  now,  — only 
many  strange  boys.  A bell  rahg  twice ; and 
a teacher  entered  our  classroom,  and  told  us 
to  take  out  our  slates.  Then  he  wrote  a Jap- 
anese character  on  the  blackboard,  and  told  us 
to  copy  it.  That  day  he  taught  us  how  to  write 
two  Japanese  words,  and  told  us  some  story 
about  a good  boy.  When  I returned  home  I 
ran  to  my  mother,  and  knelt  down  by  her  side 
to  tell  her  what  the  teacher  had  taught  me. 
Oh ! how  great  my  pleasure  then  was ! I 
cannot  even  tell  how  I felt,  — much  less 
write  it.  I can  only  say  that  I then  thought 
the  teacher  was  a more  learned  man  than 
father,  or  any  one  else  whom  I knew,  — the 
most  awful,  and  yet  the  most  kindly  person 
in  the  world.” 


40 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


The  following  also  shows  the  teacher  in  a 
very  pleasing  light : — 

“ My  brother  and  sister  took  me  to  school 
the  first  day.  I thought  I could  sit  beside 
them  in  the  school,  as  I used  to  do  at  home ; 
but  the  teacher  ordered  me  to  go  to  a class- 
room which  was  very  far  away  from  that  of  my 
brother  and  sister.  I insisted  upon  remaining 
with  my  brother  and  sister;  and  when  the 
teacher  said  that  could  not  be,  I cried  and 
made  a great  noise.  Then  they  allowed  my 
brother  to  leave  his  own  class,  and  accompany 
me  to  mine.  But  after  a while  I found  play- 
mates in  my  own  class ; and  then  I was  not 
afraid  to  be  without  my  brother.” 

This  also  is  quite  pretty  and  true  : — - 

“ A teacher  — (I  think,  the  head  master) 
called  me  to  him,  and  told  me  that  I must 
become  a great  scholar.  Then  he  bade  some 
man  take  me  into  a classroom  where  there 
were  forty  or  fifty  scholars.  I felt  afraid  and 
pleased  at  the  same  time,  at  the  thought  of 
having  so  many  playfellows.  They  looked  at 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


41 


me  shyly,  and  I at  them.  I was  at  first  afraid 
to  speak  to  them.  Little  boys  are  innocent 
like  that.  But  after  a while,  in  some  way  or 
other,  we  began  to  play  together  ; and  they 
seemed  to  be  pleased  to  have  me  play  with 
them.” 

The  above  three  compositions  were  by 
young  men  who  had  their  first  schooling  under 
the  existing  educational  system,  which  prohib- 
its harshness  on  the  part  of  masters.  But  it 
would  seem  that  the  teachers  of  the  previous 
era  were  less  tender.  Here  are  three  composi- 
tions by  older  students  who  appear  to  have 
had  quite  a different  experience  : — 

1.  “ Before  Meiji,  there  were  no  such  pub- 
lic schools  in  Japan  as  there  are  now.  But 
in  every  province  there  was  a sort  of  student 
society  composed  of  the  sons  of  Samurai. 
Unless  a man  were  a Samurai,  his  son  could 
not  enter  such  a society.  It  was  under  the 
control  of  the  Lord  of  the  province,  who  ap- 
pointed a director  to  rule  the  students.  The 
principal  study  of  the  Samurai  was  that  of 
the  Chinese  language  and  literature.  Most 


42 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


of  the  Statesmen  of  the  present  goverment 
were  once  students  in  such  Samurai  schools. 
Common  citizens  and  country,  people  had  to 
send  their  sons  and  daughters  to  primary 
schools  called  Terakoya^  where  all  the  teaching 
was  usually  done  by  one  teacher.  It  consisted 
of  little  more  than  reading,  writing,  calculat- 
ing, and  some  moral  instruction.  We  could 
learn  to  write  an  ordinary  letter,  or  a very 
easy  essay.  At  eight  years  old,  I was  sent  to 
a terakoya,  as  I was  not  the  son  of  a Samurai. 
At  first  I did  not  want  to  go ; and  every  morn- 
ing my  grandfather  had  to  strike  me  with  his 
stick  to  make  me  go.  The  discipline  at  that 
school  was  very  severe.  If  a boy  did  not  obey, 
he  was  beaten  with  a bamboo,  — being  held 
down  to  receive  his  punishment.  After  a year, 
many  public  schools  were  opened : and  I en- 
tered a public  school.” 

2.  “ A great  gate,  a pompous  building,  a 
very  large  dismal  room  with  benches  in  rows, 
— these  I remember.  The  teachers  looked 
very  severe  ; I did  not  like  their  faces.  I sat 
on  a bench  in  the  room  and  felt  hateful.  The 
tvflachers  seemed  unkind;  none  of  the  boys 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


43 


knew  me,  or  spoke  to  me.  A teaclier  stood 
up  by  tbe  blackboard,  and  began  to  call  tbe 
names.  He  bad  a whip  in  his  hand.  He 
called  my  name.  I could  not  answer,  and 
burst  out  crying.  So  I was  sent  home.  That 
was  my  first  day  at  school.” 

3.  “ When  I was  seven  years  old  I was 
obliged  to  enter  a school  in  my  native  village. 
My  father  gave  me  two  or  three  writing- 
brushes  and  some  paper ; — I was  very  glad  to 
get  them,  and  promised  to  study  as  earnestly 
as  I could.  But  how  unpleasant  the  first  day 
at  school  was  ! When  I went  to  the  school, 
none  of  the  students  knew  me,  and  I found 
myself  without  a friend.  I entered  a class- 
room. A teacher,  with  a whip  in  his  hand, 
called  my  name  in  a large  voice.  I was  very 
much  surprised  at  it,  and  so  frightened  that  I 
could  not  help  crying.  The  boys  laughed  very 
loudly  at  me ; but  the  teacher  scolded  them, 
and  whipped  one  of  them,  and  then  said  to 
me,  ‘ Don’t  be  afraid  of  my  voice : what  is 
your  name  ? ’ I told  him  my  name,  snuffling. 
I thought  then  that  school  was  a very  disagree- 
able place,  where  we  could  neither  weep  nor 


44 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


laugh.  I wanted  only  to  go  back  home  at 
once ; and  though  I felt  it  was  out  of  my 
power  to  go,  I could  scarcely  bear  to  stay  un- 
til the  lessons  were  over.  When  I returned 
home  at  last,  I told  my  father  what  I had  felt 
at  school,  and  said : ‘ I do  not  like  to  go  to 
school  at  all.’  ” 

Needless  to  say  the  next  memory  is  of  Meiji. 
It  gives,  as  a composition,  evidence  of  what 
we  should  call  in  the  West,  character.  The 
suggestion  of  self-reliance  at  six  years  old  is 
delicious : so  is  the  recollection  of  the  little 
sister  taking  off  her  white  tahi  to  deck  her 
child-brother  on  his  first  school-day  : — 

“ I was  six  years  old.  My  mother  awoke 
me  early.  My  sister  gave  me  her  own  stock- 
ings (tahi)  to  wear,  — and  I felt  very  happy. 
Father  ordered  a servant  to  attend  me  to  the 
school ; but  I refused  to  he  accompanied : I 
wanted  to  feel  that  I could  go  all  by  myself. 
So  I went  alone  ; and,  as  the  school  was  not 
far  from  the  house,  I soon  found  myself  in 
front  of  the  gate.  There  I stood  still  a little 
while,  because  I Imew  none  of  the  children  I 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


45 


saw  going  in.  Boys  and  girls  were  passing 
into  the  schoolyard,  accompanied  by  servants 
or  relatives ; and  inside  I saw  others  playing 
games  which  filled  me  with  envy.  But  all  at 
once  a little  boy  among  the  players  saw  me, 
and  with  a laugh  came  running  to  me.  Then 
I was  very  happy.  I walked  to  and  fro  with 
him,  hand  in  hand.  At  last  a teacher  called 
aU  of  us  into  a schoolroom,  and  made  a 
speech  which  I could  not  understand.  After 
that  we  were  free  for  the  day  because  it 
was  the  first  day.  I returned  home  with  my 
friend.  My  parents  were  waiting  for  me, 
with  fruits  and  cakes ; and  my  friend  and  I 
ate  them  together.” 

Another  writes : — 

“ When  I first  went  to  school  I was  six 
years  old.  I remember  only  that  my  grand- 
father carried  my  books  and  slate  for  me,  and 
that  the  teacher  and  the  boys  were  very,  very, 
very  kind  and  good  to  me,  — so  that  I thought 
school  was  a paradise  in  this  world,  and  did 
not  want  to  return  home.” 


46  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

I think  this  little  bit  of  natural  remorse  is 
also  worth  the  wi'iting-  down  : — 

“ I was  eight  years  old  when  I first  went  to 
school.  I was  a bad  boy.  I remember  on 
the  way  home  from  school  I had  a quarrel 
with  one  of  my  playmates,  — yoixnger  than  I. 
He  threw  a very  little  stone  at  me  which  hit 
me.  I took  a branch  of  a tree  lying  in  the 
road,  and  struck  him  across  the  face  with  all 
my  might.  Then  I ran  away,  leaving  him 
crying  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  My  heart 
told  me  what  I had  done.  After  reaching  my 
home,  I thought  I still  heard  him  crying. 
My  little  idaymate  is  not  any  more  in  this 
world  now.  Can  any  one  know  my  feelings  ? ” 

All  this  capacity  of  young  men  to  turn  back 
with  perfect  naturalness  of  feeling  to  scenes 
of  their  childhood  appears  to  me  essentially 
Oriental.  In  the  Occident  men  seldom  begin 
to  recall  their  childhood  vividly  before  the 
approach  of  the  autumn  season  of  life.  But 
childhood  in  Japan  is  certainly  happier  than 
in  other  lands,  and  therefore  perhaps  is  re- 
gretted earlier  in  adult  life.  The  following 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


47 


extract  from  a student’s  record  of  liis  holiday 
experience  touchingly  expresses  such  regret; 

“ During  the  spring  vacation,  I went  home 
to  visit  my  parents.  Just  before  the  end  of 
the  holidays,  when  it  was  nearly  time  for  me 
to  return  to  the  college,  I heard  that  the  stu- 
dents of  the  middle  school  of  my  native  town 
were  also  going  to  Kumamoto  on  an  excur- 
sion, and  I resolved  to  go  with  them. 

“ They  marched  in  military  order  with  their 
rifles.  I had  no  rifle,  so  I took  my  place  in 
the  rear  of  the  column.  We  marched  all  day, 
keeping  time  to  military  songs  which  we  sung 
all  together. 

“ In  the  evening  we  reached  Soyeda.  The 
teachers  and  students  of  the  Soyeda  school, 
and  the  chief  men  of  the  village,  welcomed  us. 
Then  we  were  separated  into  detachments, 
each  of  which  was  quartered  in  a different 
hotel.  I entered  a hotel,  with  the  last  detach- 
ment, to  rest  for  the  night. 

“ But  I could  not  sleep  for  a long  time. 
Five  years  before,  on  a similar  ‘ military  ex- 
cursion,’ I had  rested  in  that  very  hotel,  as  a 
student  of  the  same  middle  school.  I remem- 


48 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


berecl  the  fatigue  and  the  pleasure ; and  I 
compared  my  feelings  of  the  moment  with  the 
recollection  of  my  feelings  then  as  a boy.  I 
could  not  hel})  a weak  wish  to  be  young  again 
like  my  companions.  They  were  fast  asleep, 
tired  with  their  long  march ; and  I sat  up  and 
looked  at  their  faces.  How  pretty  their  faces 
seemed  in  that  young  sleep ! ” 

III 

The  preceding  selections  give  no  more  indi- 
cation of  the  general  character  of  the  students’ 
compositions  than  might  be  furnished  by  any 
choice  made  to  illustrate  a particular  feel- 
ing. Examples  of  ideas  and  sentiments  from 
themes  of  a graver  kind  would  show  variety 
of  thought  and  not  a little  originality  in 
method,  but  would  require  much  space.  A 
few  notes,  however,  copied  out  of  my  class- 
register,  will  be  found  suggestive,  if  not  ex- 
actly curious. 

At  the  summer  examinations  of  1893  I sub- 
mitted to  the  graduating  classes,  for  a compo- 
sition theme,  the  question,  “ What  is  eternal 
in  literature  ? ” I expected  original  answers, 
as  the  subject  had  never  been  discussed  by  us. 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS  49 

and  was  certainly  new  to  the  pupils,  so  far 
as  their  knowledge  of  Western  thought  was 
concerned.  Nearly  all  the  papers  proved  in- 
teresting. I select  twenty  replies  as  examples. 
Most  of  them  immediately  preceded  a long 
discussion,  but  a few  were  embodied  in  the 
text  of  the  essay  : — 

1.  “ Truth  and  Eternity  are  identical : 
these  make  the  Full  Circle,  — in  Chinese, 
Yen-Man.” 

2.  “ All  that  in  human  life  and  conduct 
which  is  according  to  the  laws  of  the  Uni- 
verse.” 

3.  “ The  lives  of  patriots,  and  the  teach- 
ings of  those  who  have  given  pure  maxims  to 
the  world.” 

4.  “Filial  Piety,  and  the  doctrine  of  its 
teachers.  Vainly  the  books  of  Confucius 
were  burned  during  the  Shin  dynasty;  they 
are  translated  to-day  into  all  the  languages  of 
the  civilized  world.” 

5.  “ Ethics,  and  scientific  truth.” 

6.  “ Both  evil  and  good  are  eternal,  said 
a Chinese  sage.  We  should  read  only  that 
which  is  good.” 


50 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


7.  “ The  great  thoughts  and  ideas  of  our 
ancestors.” 

8.  “For  a thousand  million  centuries  truth 
is  truth.” 

9.  “ Those  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  upon 
which  all  schools  of  ethics  agree.” 

10.  “ Books  which  rightly  explain  the  phe« 
nomena  of  the  Universe.” 

11.  “ Conscience  alone  is  unchangeable. 
Wherefore  books  about  ethics  based  ujDon 
conscience  are  eternal.” 

12.  “ Reasons  for  noble  action : these  re- 
main unchanged  by  time.” 

13.  “ Books  written  upon  the  best  moral 
means  of  giving  the  greatest  possible  happi- 
ness to  the  greatest  possible  number  of  people, 
— that  is,  to  mankind.” 

14.  “ The  Gokyo  (the  Five  Great  Chinese 
Classics).” 

15.  “ The  holy  books  of  China,  and  of  the 
Buddhists.” 

16.  “ All  that  which  teaches  the  Right  and 
Pure  Way  of  human  conduct.” 

17.  “ The  Story  of  Kusunoki  Masashige, 
who  vowed  to  be  reborn  seven  times  to  fight 
against  the  enemies  of  his  Sovereign.” 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS  51 

18.  “ Moral  sentiment,  witliout  which  the 
world  would  he  only  an  enormous  clod  of 
earth,  and  all  books  waste-paper.” 

19.  “The  Tao-te-King.” 

20.  Same  as  19,  but  with  this  comment. 
“ He  who  reads  that  which  is  eternal,  his  soul 
shall  hover  eternally  in  the  Universe” 

IV 

Some  particularly  Oriental  sentiments  were 
occasionally  drawn  out  through  discussions. 
The  discussions  were  based  upon  stories  which 
I would  relate  to  a class  by  word  of  mouth, 
and  invite  written  or  spoken  comment  about. 
The  results  of  such  a discussion  are  hereafter 
set  forth.  At  the  time  it  took  place,  I had 
already  told  the  students  of  the  higher  classes 
a considerable  number  of  stories.  I had  told 
them  many  of  the  Greek  myths ; among 
which  that  of  Oedipus  and  the  Sphinx  seemed 
especially  to  please  them,  because  of  the  hid- 
den moral,  and  that  of  Orpheus,  like  all  our 
musical  legends,  to  have  no  interest  for  them. 
I had  also  told  them  a variety  of  our  most 
famous  modern  stories.  The  marvelous  tale 
of  “ Eappacini’s  Daughter  ” proved  greatly  to 


52 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


their  liking ; and  the  spirit  of  Hawthorne 
might  have  found  no  little  ghostly  pleasure  in 
their  interpretation  of  it.  “ Monos  and  Dai- 
monos  ” found  favor ; and  Poe’s  wonderful 
fragment,  “ Silence,”  was  aijpreciated  after  a 
fashion  that  surprised  me.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  story  of  “ Frankenstein  ” impressed 
them  very  little.  None  took  it  seriously.  For 
Western  minds  the  tale  must  always  hold  a 
peculiar  horror,  because  of  the  shock  it  gives 
to  feelings  evolved  under  the  influence  of  He- 
braic ideas  concerning  the  origin  of  life,  the 
tremendous  character  of  divine  prohibitions, 
and  the  awful  punishments  destined  for  those 
who  would  tear  the  veil  from  Nature’s  secrets, 
or  mock,  even  unconsciously,  the  work  of  a 
jealous  Creator.  But  to  the  Oriental  mind, 
unshadowed  by  such  grim  faith,  — feeling  no 
distance  between  gods  and  men,  — conceiving 
life  as  a multiform  whole  ruled  by  one  uni- 
form law  that  shapes  the  consequence  of  every 
act  into  a reward  or  a punishment,  — the 
ghastliness  of  the  story  makes  no  appeal. 
Most  of  the  written  criticisms  showed  me  that 
it  was  generally  regarded  as  a comic  or  semi- 
comic parable.  After  all  this,  I was  rather 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS  53 

puzzled  one  morning  by  the  request  for  a 
“ very  strong  moral  story  of  the  Western 
kind.” 

I suddenly  resolved  — though  knowing  I 
was  about  to  venture  on  dangerous  ground  — • 
to  try  the  full  effect  of  a certain  Arthurian 
legend  which  I felt  sure  somebody  would  criti- 
cise with  a vim.  The  moral  is  rather  more 
than  “ very  strong ; ” and  for  that  reason  I 
was  curious  to  hear  the  result. 

So  I related  to  them  the  story  of  Sir  Bors, 
which  is  in  the  sixteenth  book  of  Sir  Thomas 
Mallory’s  “ Morte  d’ Arthur,”  — “ how  Sir 
Bors  met  his  brother  Sir  Lionel  taken  and 
beaten  with  thorns,  — and  of  a maid  which 
should  have  been  dishonored,  — and  how  Sii* 
Bors  left  his  brother  to  rescue  the  damsel, — - 
and  how  it  was  told  them  that  Lionel  was 
dead.”  But  I did  not  try  to  explain  to 
them  the  knightly  idealism  imaged  in  the 
beautiful  old  tale,  as  I wished  to  hear  them 
comment,  in  their  own  Oriental  way,  upon  the 
bare  facts  of  the  narrative. 

Which  they  did  as  follows  : — 


“ The  action  of  Mallory’s  knight,” 


ex 


54 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


claimed  Iwai,  “ was  contrary  even  to  the  prin- 
ciples of  Christianity,  — if  it  be  true  that  the 
Christian  religion  declares  all  men  brothers. 
Such  conduct  might  be  right  if  there  were  no 
society  in  the  world.  But  while  any  society 
exists  which  is  formed  of  families,  family  love 
must  be  the  strength  of  that  society ; and  the 
action  of  that  knight  was  against  family  love, 
and  therefore  against  society.  The  principle 
he  followed  was  opposed  not  only  to  all  society, 
but  was  contrary  to  all  religion,  and  contrary 
to  the  morals  of  all  countries.” 

“ The  story  is  certainly  immoral,”  said 
Orito.  “ What  it  relates  is  opposed  to  all  our 
ideas  of  love  and  loyalty,  and  even  seems  to 
us  contrary  to  nature.  Loyalty  is  not  a mere 
duty.  It  must  be  from  the  heart,  or  it  is  not 
loyalty.  It  must  be  an  inborn  feeling.  And 
it  is  in  the  nature  of  every  Japanese.” 

“ It  is  a horrible  story,”  said  Ando.  “ Phi- 
lanthropy itself  is  only  an  expansion  of  frater- 
nal love.  The  man  who  could  abandon  his 
own  brother  to  death  merely  to  save  a strange 
woman  was  a wicked  man.  Perhaps  he  was 
influenced  by  passion.” 

“ No,”  I said : “ you  forget  I told  you  that 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS  55 

there  was  no  selfishness  in  his  action,  — that 
it  must  be  interpreted  as  a heroism.” 

“ I think  the  explanation  of  the  story  must 
be  religious,”  said  Yasukochi.  “ It  seems 
strange  to  us  ; but  that  may  be  because  we  do 
not  understand  Western  ideas  very  well.  Of 
course  to  abandon  one’s  own  brother  in  order 
to  save  a strange  woman  is  contrary  to  all  our 
knowledge  of  right.  But  if  that  knight  was 
a man  of  pure  heart,  he  must  have  imagined 
himself  obliged  to  do  it  because  of  some  prom- 
ise or  some  duty.  Even  then  it  must  have 
seemed  to  him  a very  painfid  and  disgraceful 
thing  to  do,  and  he  could  not  have  done  it 
without  feeling  that  he  was  acting  against  the 
teaching  of  his  own  heart.” 

“ There  you  are  right,”  I answered.  “ But 
you  should  also  know  that  the  sentiment 
obeyed  by  Sir  Bors  is  one  which  still  influ- 
ences the  conduct  of  brave  and  noble  men  in 
the  societies  of  the  West,  — even  of  men  who 
cannot  be  called  religious  at  all  in  the  common 
sense  of  that  word.” 

“ Still,  we  think  it  a very  bad  sentiment,” 
said  Iwai ; “ and  we  would  rather  hear  an* 
other  story  about  another  form  of  society.” 


66  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

Then  it  occurred  to  me  to  tell  them  the 
immortal  story  of  Alkestis.  I thought  for  the 
moment  that  the  character  of  Herakles  in  that 
divine  drama  would  have  a jDarticular  charm 
for  them.  But  the  comments  proved  I was 
mistaken.  No  one  even  referred  to  Herakles. 
Indeed  I ought  to  have  remembered  that  our 
ideals  of  heroism,  strength  of  purpose,  con- 
tempt of  death,  do  not  readily  appeal  to  Jap- 
anese youth.  And  this  for  the  reason  that  no 
Japanese  gentleman  regards  such  qualities  as 
exceptional.  He  considers  heroism  a matter 
of  course  — something  belonging  to  manhood 
and  inseparable  from  it.  He  would  say  that 
a woman  may  be  afraid  without  shame,  but 
never  a man.  Then  as  a mere  idealization  of 
physical  force,  Herakles  could  interest  Ori- 
entals very  little  : their  own  mythology  teems 
with  impersonations  of  strength  ; and,  besides, 
dexterity,  sleight,  quickness,  are  much  more 
admired  by  a true  Japanese  than  strength. 
No  Japanese  boy  would  sincerely  wish  to  be 
like  the  giant  Benkei ; but  Yoshitsune,  the 
slender,  supple  conqueror  and  master  of  Ben- 
kei, remains  an  ideal  of  perfect  knighthood 
dear  to  the  hearts  of  all  Japanese  youth. 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


57 


Kamekawa  said : — 

“ The  story  of  Alkestis,  or  at  least  the 
story  of  Admetus,  is  a story  of  cowardice,  dis- 
loyalty, immorality.  The  conduct  of  Adme- 
tus was  abominable.  His  wife  was  indeed 
noble  and  virtuous — too  good  a wife  for  so 
shameless  a man.  I do  not  believe  that  the 
father  of  Admetus  would  not  have  been  will- 
ing to  die  for  his  son  if  his  son  had  been 
worthy.  I think  he  would  gladly  have  died 
for  his  son  had  he  not  been  disgusted  by  the 
cowardice  of  Admetus.  And  how  disloyal 
the  subjects  of  Admetus  were  ! The  moment 
they  heard  of  their  king’s  danger  they  should 
have  rushed  to  the  palace,  and  humbly  begged 
that  they  might  be  allowed  to  die  in  his  stead. 
However  cowardly  or  cruel  he  might  have 
been,  that  was  their  duty.  They  were  his 
subjects.  They  lived  by  his  favor.  Yet  how 
disloyal  they  were ! A country  inhabited  by 
such  shameless  people  must  soon  have  gone  to 
ruin.  Of  course,  as  the  story  says,  ‘ it  is 
sweet  to  live.’  Who  does  not  love  life? 
Who  does  not  dislike  to  die  ? But  no  brave 
man  — no  loyal  man  even  — should  so  much 
as  think  about  his  life  when  duty  requires 
him  to  give  it.” 


58 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


“ But,”  said  MidzugucH,  who  had  joined 
us  a little  too  late  to  hear  the  beginning  of 
the  narration,  “ perhaps  Admetus  was  actu- 
ated by  filial  piety.  Had  I been  Admetus, 
and  found  no  one  among  my  subjects  willing 
to  die  for  me,  I shoidd  have  said  to  my  wife : 
‘ Dear  wife,  I cannot  leave  my  father  alone 
now,  because  he  has  no  other  son,  and  his 
grandsons  are  still  too  young  to  be  of  use  to 
him.  Therefore,  if  you  love  me,  please  die  in 
my  place.’  ” 

“You  do  not  understand  the  story,”  said 
Yasukochi.  “Filial  piety  did  not  exist  in 
Admetus.  He  wished  that  his  father  should 
Lave  died  for  him.” 

“ Ah  ! ” exclaimed  the  apologist  in  real  sur- 
prise,— “ that  is  not  a nice  story,  teacher!  ” 

“ Admetus,”  declared  Kawabuchi,  “ was 
everything  which  is  bad.  He  was  a hateful 
coward,  because  he  was  afraid  to  die  ; he  was 
a tyrant,  because  he  wanted  his  subjects  to 
die  for  him  ; he  was  an  unfilial  son  because  he 
wanted  his  old  father  to  die  in  his  place  ; and 
he  was  an  unkind  husband,  because  he  asked 
his  wife  — a weak  woman  with  little  children 
- — to  do  what  he  was  afraid  to  do  as  a man. 
\Fhat  could  be  baser  than  Admetus  ? ” 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS 


69 


“ But  Alkestis,”  said  Iwai,  — “ Alkestls 
was  all  that  is  good.  For  she  gave  up  her 
children  and  everything,  — even  like  the 
Buddha  [yS'Aa^a]  himself.  Yet  she  was  very 
yoimg.  How  true  and  brave ! The  beauty  of 
her  face  might  perish  like  a spring-blossom- 
ing, but  the  beauty  of  her  act  should  be  re- 
membered for  a thousand  times  a thousand 
years.  Eternally  her  soul  will  hover  in  the 
universe.  Formless  she  is  now  ; but  it  is  the 
Formless  who  teach  us  more  kindly  than  our 
kindest  living  teachers,  — the  souls  of  all  who 
have  done  pure,  brave,  wise  deeds.” 

“ The  wife  of  Admetus,”  said  Kumamoto, 
inclined  to  austerity  in  liis  judgments,  “ was 
simply  obedient.  She  was  not  entirely  blame- 
less. For,  before  her  death,  it  was  her  highest 
duty  to  have  severely  reproached  her  husband 
for  his  foolishness.  And  this  she  did  not  do, 
— not  at  least  as  our  teacher  tells  the  story.” 

“ Why  Western  people  should  think  that 
story  beautiful,”  said  Zaitsu,  “ is  difficult  for 
us  to  understand.  There  is  much  in  it  which 
fills  us  with  anger.  For  some  of  us  cannot 
but  think  of  our  parents  when  listening  to 
such  a story.  After  the  Revolution  of  Meiji, 


60 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


for  a time,  there  was  mucli  suffering.  Often 
perhaps  our  parents  were  hungry ; yet  we 
always  had  plenty  of  food.  Sometimes  they 
could  scarcely  get  money  to  live  ; yet  we  were 
educated.  When  we  think  of  all  it  cost  them 
to  educate  us,  all  the  trouble  it  gave  them  to 
bring  us  up,  all  the  love  they  gave  us,  and  all 
the  pain  we  caused  them  in  our  foolish  child- 
hood, then  we  think  we  can  never,  never  do 
enough  for  them.  And  therefore  we  do  not 
like  that  story  of  Admetus.” 

The  bugle  sounded  for  recess.  I went  ta 
the  parade-gTound  to  take  a smoke.  Pres- 
ently a few  students  joined  me,  with  their 
rifles  and  bayonets  — for  the  next  hour  was 
to  be  devoted  to  military  drill.  One  said; 
“ Teacher,  we  should  like  another  subject  for 
composition, — not  too  easy.” 

I suggested  : “ How  would  you  like  this  for 
a subject,  ‘ What  is  most  difficult  to  under- 
stand ? ’ ” 

“ That,”  said  Kawabuchi,  “ is  not  hard  to 
answer,  — the  correct  use  of  English  prepo- 
sitions.” 

“ In  the  study  of  English  by  Japanese  stm 


WITH  KYUSHU  STUDENTS  61 

dents,  — yes,”  I answered.  “ But  I did  not 
mean  any  special  difficulty  of  that  kind.  I 
meant  to  write  your  ideas  about  what  is  most 
difficult  for  all  men  to  understand.” 

“ The  universe  ? ” queried  Yasukochi. 
“ That  is  too  large  a subject.” 

“ When  I was  only  six  years  old,”  said 
Orito,  “ I used  to  wander  along  the  seashore, 
on  fine  days,  and  wonder  at  the  greatness  of 
the  world.  Our  home  was  by  the  sea.  After- 
wards I was  taught  that  the  problem  of  the 
universe  will  at  last  pass  away,  like  smoke.” 

“ I think,”  said  Miyakawa,  “ that  the 
hardest  of  all  things  to  understand  is  why 
men  live  in  the  world.  From  the  time  a child 
is  born,  what  does  he  do  ? He  eats  and 
drinks ; he  feels  happy  and  sad ; he  sleeps 
at  night ; he  awakes  in  the  morning.  He  is 
educated ; he  grows  up ; he  marries  ; he  has 
children ; he  gets  old ; his  hair  turns  first 
gray  and  then  white  ; he  becomes  feebler  and 
feebler,  — and  he  dies. 

“ What  does  he  do  all  his  life  ? All  his 
real  work  in  this  world  is  to  eat  and  to  drink, 
to  sleep  and  to  rise  up  ; since,  whatever  be  his 
occupation  as  a citizen,  he  toils  only  that  he 


62 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


may  be  able  to  continue  doing  this.  But  for 
what  i^urpose  does  a man  really  come  into  the 
world  ? Is  it  to  eat  ? Is  it  to  drink  ? Is  it 
to  sleep  ? Every  day  he  does  exactly  the 
same  thing,  and  yet  he  is  not  tired ! It  is 
strange. 

“ When  rewarded,  he  is  glad  ; when  pun- 
ished, he  is  sad.  If  he  becomes  rich,  he  thinks 
himself  happy.  If  he  becomes  poor,  he  is 
very  unhappy.  Why  is  he  glad  or  sad  accord- 
ing to  his  condition  ? Happiness  and  sadness 
are  only  temporary  things.  Why  does  he 
study  hard  ? No  matter  how  great  a scholar 
he  may  become,  what  is  there  left  of  him  when 
he  is  dead  ? Only  bones.” 

Miyakawa  was  the  merriest  and  wittiest  in 
his  class ; and  the  contrast  between  his  joy- 
ous character  and  his  words  seemed  to  me 
almost  startling.  But  such  swift  glooms  of 
thought  — especially  since  Meiji  — not  unfre- 
quently  make  apparition  in  quite  young 
Oriental  minds.  They  are  fugitive  as  shad- 
ows of  summer  clouds ; they  mean  less  than 
they  would  signify  in  Western  adolescence  ; 
and  the  Japanese  lives  not  by  thought,  nor 


WITH  KYUSHU  students  63 

by  emotion,  but  by  duty.  Still,  they  are  not 
haunters  to  encourage. 

“ I think,”  said  I,  “ a much  better  subject 
for  you  aU  would  he  the  Sky : the  sensations 
which  the  sky  creates  in  us  when  we  look  at  it 
on  such  a day  as  this.  See  how  wonderful 
it  is ! ” 

It  was  blue  to  the  edge  of  the  world,  with 
never  a floss  of  cloud.  There  were  no  vapors 
in  the  horizon ; and  very  far  peaks,  invisible 
on  most  days,  now  massed  into  the  glorious 
light,  seemingly  diaphanous. 

Then  Kumashiro,  looking  up  to  the  mighty 
arching,  uttered  with  reverence  the  ancient 
Chinese  words : — 

“ What  thought  is  so  high  as  It  is  f What 
mind  is  so  wide  ? ” 

“ To-day,”  I said,  “is  beautiful  as  any 
summer  day  could  be,  — only  that  the  leaves 
are  falling,  and  the  semi  are  gone.” 

“ Do  you  like  semi,  teacher  ? ” asked  Mori. 

“ It  gives  me  great  pleasure  to  hear  them,” 
I answered.  “We  have  no  such  cicadse  in 
the  West.” 

“ Human  life  is  compared  to  the  life  of  a 
semi,”  said  Orito,  — “ utsuzemi  no  yo.  Brief 


64 


OUT  ‘of  the  east 

as  the  song  of  the  semi  all  human  joy  is,  and 
youth.  Men  come  for  a season  and  go,  as  do 
the  semi.” 

“ There  are  no  semi  now,”  said  Yasukochi ; 
“ perhaps  the  teacher  thinks  it  is  sad.” 

“ I do  not  think  it  sad,”  observed  Noguchi. 
“ They  hinder  us  from  study.  I hate  the 
sound  they  make.  When  we  hear  that  sound 
in  summer,  and  are  tired,  it  adds  fatigue  to 
fatigue  so  that  we  fall  asleep.  If  we  try  to 
read  or  write,  or  even  think,  when  we  hear 
that  sound  we  have  no  more  courage  to  do 
anything.  Then  we  wish  that  all  those  insects 
were  dead.” 

Perhaps  you  like  the  dragon-flies,”  I sug- 
gested. “ They  are  flashing  all  around  us ; 
but  they  make  no  sound.” 

“ Every  Japanese  likes  dragon-flies,”  said 
Kumashiro.  “ Japan,  you  know,  is  called 
Akitsusu,  which  means  the  Country  of  the 
Dragon-fly.” 

We  talked  about  different  kinds  of  dragon- 
flies ; and  they  told  me  of  one  I had  never 
seen,  — the  Shoro-tomho,  or  “ Ghost  dragon- 
fly,” said  to  have  some  strange  relation  to  the 
dead.  Also  they  spoke  of  the  Yamma  — a 


WITH  KYDSHU  students 


65 


very  large  kind  of  dragon-fly,  and  related  that 
in  certain  old  songs  the  samurai  were  called 
Yamma,  because  the  long  hair  of  a young 
warrior  used  to  be  tied  up  into  a knot  in  the 
shape  of  a dragon-fly. 

A bugle  sounded ; and  the  voice  of  the 
military  officer  rang  out,  — 

AtsumarE  ! ” (fall  in  !)  But  the  young 
men  lingered  an  instant  to  ask,  — 

“ Well,  what  shall  it  be,  teacher  ? — that 
which  is  most  difficult  to  understand  ? ” 

“ No,”  I said,  “ the  Sky.” 

And  all  that  day  the  beauty  of  the  Chinese 
utterance  haunted  me,  filled  me  like  an  exal- 
tation : — 

“ What  thought  is  so  high  as  It  is  f What 
mind  is  so  wide  f ” 


V 

There  is  one  instance  in  which  the  relation 
between  teachers  and  students  is  not  formal  at 
all,  — one  precious  survival  of  the  mutual  love 
of  other  days  in  the  old  Samurai  Schools.  By 
all  the  aged  Professor  of  Chinese  is  reverenced ; 
and  his  influence  over  the  young  men  is  very 
great.  With  a word  he  could  calm  any  out- 


66 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


burst  of  anger  ; with  a smile  be  could  quicken 
any  generous  impulse.  For  he  represents  to 
the  lads  their  ideal  of  all  that  was  brave,  true, 
noble,  in  the  elder  life,  — the  Soul  of  Old 
Japan. 

His  name,  signifying  “ Moon-of- Autumn,” 
is  famous  in  his  own  land.  A little  book  has 
been  published  about  him,  containing  his  por- 
trait. He  was  once  a samurai  of  high  rank 
belonging  to  the  great  clan  of  Aidzu.  He  rose 
early  to  positions  of  trust  and  influence.  He 
has  been  a leader  of  armies,  a negotiator  be- 
tween princes,  a statesman,  a ruler  of  provinces 
■ — all  that  any  knight  could  be  in  the  feudal 
era.  But  in  the  intervals  of  military  or  polit- 
ical duty  he  seems  to  have  always  been  a 
teacher.  There  are  few  such  teachers.  There 
are  few  such  scholars.  Yet  to  see  him  now, 
you  would  scarcely  believe  how  much  he  was 
once  feared  — though  loved  — by  the  turbu- 
lent swordsmen  under  his  rule.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  gentleness  so  full  of  charm  as  that 
of  the  man  of  war  noted  for  sternness  in  his 
youth. 

When  the  Feudal  System  made  its  last 
battle  for  existence,  he  heard  the  summons  of 


WITH  KYDSHU  students 


67 


his  lord,  and  went  into  that  terrible  struggle 
in  which  even  the  women  and  little  children  of 
Aidzu  took  part.  But  courage  and  the  sword 
alone  coidd  not  prevail  against  the  new  methods 
of  war ; — the  power  of  Aidzu  was  broken ; 
and  he,  as  one  of  the  leaders  of  that  power, 
was  long  a political  prisoner. 

But  the  victors  esteemed  him ; and  the 
Government  he  had  fought  against  in  all 
honor  took  him  into  its  service  to  teach  the 
new  generations.  From  younger  teachers  these 
learned  Western  science  and  Western  lan- 
guages. But  he  still  taught  that  wisdom  of 
the  Chinese  sages  which  is  eternal, — and 
loyalty,  and  honor,  and  all  that  makes  the 
man. 

Some  of  his  children  passed  away  from  his 
sight.  But  he  could  not  feel  alone ; for  all 
whom  he  taught  were  as  sons  to  him,  and  so 
reverenced  him.  And  he  became  old,  very 
old,  and  grew  to  look  like  a god,  — like  a 
Kami-Sama. 

The  Kami-Sama  in  art  bear  no  likeness  to 
the  Buddhas.  These  more  ancient  divinities 
have  no  downcast  gaze,  no  meditative  impas- 
siveness. They  are  lovers  of  Nature ; they 


68 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


haunt  her  fairest  solitudes,  and  enter  into  the 
life  of  her  trees,  and  speak  in  her  waters,  and 
hover  in  her  winds.  Once  upon  the  earth  they 
lived  as  men ; and  the  people  of  the  land  are 
their  posterity.  Even  as  divine  ghosts,  they 
remain  very  human,  and  of  many  dispositions. 
They  are  the  emotions,  they  are  the  sensa- 
tions of  the  living.  But  as  figuring  in  legend 
and  the  art  born  of  legend,  they  are  mostly 
very  pleasant  to  know.  I speak  not  of  the 
cheap  art  which  treats  them  irreverently  in 
these  skeptical  days,  but  of  the  older  art 
explaining  the  sacred  texts  about  them.  Of 
course  such  representations  vary  greatly.  But 
were  you  to  ask  what  is  the  ordinary  traditional 
aspect  of  a Kami,  I should  answer : “ An 
ancient  smiling  man  of  wondrously  gentle 
countenance,  having  a long  white  beard,  and 
all  robed  in  white  with  a white  girdle.” 

Only  that  the  girdle  of  the  aged  Professor 
was  of  black  silk,  just  such  a vision  of  Shinto 
he  seemed  when  he  visited  me  the  last  time. 

He  had  met  me  at  the  college,  and  had 
said : “ I know  there  has  been  a congratu- 

lation at  your  house ; and  that  I did  not  call 
was  not  because  I am  old  or  because  your 


WITH  KYUSHU'  STUDENTS 


69 


house  is  far,  but  only  because  I have  been 
long  ill.  But  you  will  soon  see  me.” 

So  one  luminous  afternoon  be  came,  bringing 
gifts  of  felicitation,  — gifts  of  the  antique 
high  courtesy,  simple  in  themselves,  yet  worthy 
a prince  : a little  plum-tree,  every  branch  and 
spray  one  snowy  dazzle  of  blossoms  ; a curious 
and  pretty  bamboo  vessel  fidl  of  wine ; and 
two  scrolls  bearing  beautiful  poems,  — texts 
precious  in  themselves  as  the  work  of  a rare 
calligrapher  and  poet ; otherwise  precious  to 
me,  because  written  by  his  own  hand.  Every- 
thing which  he  said  to  me  I do  not  fully  know. 
I remember  words  of  affectionate  encourage- 
ment about  my  duties,  — some  wise,  keen  ad- 
vice, — a strange  story  of  his  youth.  But  all 
was  like  a pleasant  dream ; for  his  mere 
presence  was  a caress,  and  the  fragrance  of  his 
flower-gift  seemed  as  a breathing  from  the 
Takama-no-hara.  And  as  a Kami  should 
come  and  go,  so  he  smiled  and  went,  — leaving 
all  things  hallowed.  The  little  plum-tree  has 
lost  its  flowers  : another  winter  must  pass 
before  it  blooms  again.  But  something  very 
sweet  still  seems  to  haunt  the  vacant  guest- 
room. Perhaps  only  the  memory  of  that  di- 


70 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


vine  old  man;  — perhaps  a spirit  ancestral, 
some  Lady  of  the  Past,  who  followed  his  steps 
all  viewlessly  to  our  threshold  that  day,  and 
lingers  with  me  awhile,  just  because  he  loved 
me. 


HI 

AT  HAKATA 

I 

I 

TEAVELma  by  kuruma  one  can  only  see 
and  dream.  The  jolting  makes  reading  too 
painful ; tbe  rattle  of  the  wheels  and  the  rush 
of  the  wind  render  conversation  impossible,  — 
even  when  the  road  allows  of  a fellow-traveler’s 
vehicle  rimning  beside  your  own.  After  hav- 
ing become  familiar  with  the  characteristics 
of  Japanese  scenery,  you  are  not  apt  to  notice 
during  such  travel,  except  at  long  intervals, 
anything  novel  enough  to  make  a strong  im- 
pression. Most  often  the  way  winds  through 
a perpetual  sameness  of  rice-fields,  vegetable 
farms,  tiny  thatched  hamlets, — and  between 
interminable  ranges  of  green  or  blue  hills. 
Sometimes,  indeed,  there  are  startling  spreads 
of  eolor,  as  when  you  traverse  a plain  all  burn- 
ing yellow  with  the  blossoming  of  the  nataue, 
or  a valley  all  lilac  with  the  flowering  of  the 


72 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


gengebana ; but  these  are  the  passing  splen- 
dors of  very  short  seasons.  As  a rule,  the 
vast  green  monotony  appeals  to  no  faculty : 
you  sink  into  reverie  or  nod,  perhaps,  with 
the  wind  in  your  face,  to  be  wakened  only 
by  some  jolt  of  extra  violence. 

Even  so,  on  my  autumn  way  to  Hakata,  I 
gaze  and  dream  and  nod  by  turns.  I watch 
the  flashing  of  the  dragon-flies,  the  infinite 
network  of  rice-field  paths  spreading  out  of 
sight  on  either  hand,  the  slowly  shifting  lines 
of  familiar  peaks  in  the  horizon  glow,  and  the 
changing  shapes  of  white  afloat  in  the  vivid 
blue  above  all,  — asking  myself  how  many 
times  again  must  I view  the  same  Kyushu 
landscape,  and  deploring  the  absence  of  the 
wonderful. 

Suddenly  and  very  softly,  the  thought  steals 
into  my  mind  that  the  most  wonderful  of  pos- 
sible visions  is  really  all  about  me  in  the  mere 
common  green  of  the  world,  — in  the  ceaseless 
manifestation  of  Life. 

Ever  and  everywhere,  from  beginnings 
invisible,  green  things  are  growing,  — out  of 
soft  earth,  out  of  hard  rock,  — forms  multitu- 
dinous, dumb  soundless  races  incalculably  older 


AT  EAKATA 


73 


than  man.  Of  their  visible  history  we  know 
much ; names  we  have  given  them,  and  classi- 
fication. The  reason  of  the  forms  of  their 
leaves,  of  the  qualities  of  their  fruits,  of  the 
colors  of  their  flowers,  we  also  know ; for  we 
have  learned  not  a little  about  the  course  of 
the  eternal  laws  that  give  shape  to  all  terres- 
trial things.  But  why  they  are,  — that  we  do 
not  know.  What  is  the  ghostliness  that  seeks 
expression  in  this  universal  green,  — the  mys- 
tery of  that  which  multiplies  forever  issuing 
out  of  that  which  multiplies  not  ? Or  is  the 
seeming  lifeless  itself  life,  — only  a life  more 
silent  still,  more  hidden  ? 

But  a stranger  and  quicker  life  moves  upon 
the  face  of  the  world,  peoples  wind  and  flood. 
This  has  the  ghostlier  power  of  separating 
itself  from  earth,  yet  is  always  at  last  recalled 
thereto,  and  condemned  to  feed  that  which  it 
once  fed  upon.  It  feels ; it  knows  ; it  crawls, 
swims,  runs,  flies,  thinks.  Countless  the 
shapes  of  it.  The  green  slower  life  seeks 
being  only.  But  this  forever  struggles  against 
non-being.  We  know  the  mechanism  of  its 
motion,  the  laws  of  its  growth  : the  innermost 
mazes  of  its  structure  have  been  explored?  the 


74 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


territories  of  its  sensation  have  been  mapped 
and  named.  But  the  meaning  of  it,  who  will 
tell  us  ? Out  of  what  ultimate  came  it  ? Or, 
more  simply,  what  is  it  ? Why  should  it 
know  pain  ? Why  is  it  evolved  by  pain  ? 

And  this  life  of  pain  is  our  own.  Rela- 
tively, it  sees,  it  knows.  Absolutely,  it  is 
blind,  and  gropes,  like  the  slow  cold  green  life 
' which  supports  it.  But  does  it  also  support 
a higher  existence,  — nourish  some  invisible 
life  infinitely  more  active  and  more  complex  ? 
Is  there  ghostliness  orbed  in  ghostliness, — 
life  within  life  without  end  ? Are  there  uni- 
verses interpenetrating  universes? 

For  our  era,  at  least,  the  boundaries  of 
human  knowledge  have  been  irrevocably  fixed ; 
and  far  beyond  those  limits  only  exist  the 
solutions  of  such  questions.  Yet  what  consti- 
tutes those  limits  of  the  possible  ? Nothing 
more  than  human  nature  itself.  Must  that 
nature  remain  equally  limited  in  those  who 
shall  come  after  us  ? Will  they  never  develop 
higher  senses,  vaster  faculties,  subtler  percep- 
tions ? What  is  the  teaching  of  science  ? 

Perhaps  it  has  been  suggested  in  the  pro- 


75 


found  saying  of  Clifford,  that  "vre  were  never 
made,  but  have  made  ourselves.  This  is, 
indeed,  the  deepest  of  all  teachings  of  science. 
And  wherefore  has  man  made  himself  ? To 
escape  suffering  and  death.  Under  the  pres- 
sure of  pain  alone  was  our  being  shaped  ; and 
even  so  long  as  pain  lives,  so  long  must  con- 
tinue the  ceaseless  toil  of  self-change.  Once 
in  the  ancient  past,  the  necessities  of  life  were 
physical ; they  are  not  less  moral  than  physi- 
cal now.  And  of  all  future  necessities,  none 
seems  likely  to  prove  so  merciless,  so  mighty, 
so  tremendous,  as  that  of  trying  to  read  the 
Universal  Riddle. 

The  world’s  greatest  thinker  — he  who  has 
told  us  why  the  Riddle  cannot  be  read  — has 
told  us  also  how  the  longing  to  solve  it  must 
endure,  and  grow  with  the  growing  of  man.^ 

And  surely  the  mere  recognition  of  this 
necessity  contains  within  it  the  germ  of  a hope. 
May  not  the  desire  to  know,  as  the  possibly 
highest  form  of  future  pain,  compel  within 
men  the  natural  evolution  of  powers  to  achieve 
the  now  impossible,  — of  capacities  to  perceive 
the  now  invisible  ? We  of  to-day  are  that 

^ First  Principles  (The  Reconciliation). 


76 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


which  we  are  through  longing  so  to  be ; and 
naay  not  the  inheritors  of  our  work  yet  make 
themselves  that  which  we  now  would  wish  to 
become  ? 

n 

I am  in  Hakata,  the  town  of  the  Girdle- 
W eavers,  — which  is  a very  tall  town,  with  fan- 
tastic narrow  ways  full  of  amazing  color ; — 
and  I halt  in  the  Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods 
because  there  is  an  enormous  head  of  bronze, 
the  head  of  a Buddha,  smiling  at  me  thi’ough  a 
gateway.  The  gateway  is  of  a temple  of  the 
Jodo  sect ; and  the  head  is  beautiful. 

But  there  is  only  the  head.  What  supports 
it  above  the  pavement  of  the  court  is  hidden 
by  thousands  of  metal  mirrors  heaped  up  to 
the  chin  of  the  great  dreamy  face.  A placard 
beside  the  gateway  explains  the  problem.  The 
mirrors  are  contributions  by  women  to  a co- 
lossal seated  figure  of  Buddha  — to  be  thirty- 
five  feet  high,  including  the  huge  lotus  on 
which  it  is  to  be  enthroned.  And  the  whole 
is  to  be  made  of  bronze  mirrors.  Hundreds 
have  been  already  used  to  cast  the  head ; 
myriads  will  be  needed  to  finish  the  work. 
Who  can  venture  to  assert,  in  presence  of 


AT  HAKATA 


77 


sucli  an  exhibition,  that  Buddhism  is  passing 
away  ? 

Yet  I cannot  feel  delighted  at  this  display, 
which,  although  gratifying  the  artistic  sense 
with  the  promise  of  a noble  statue,  shocks  it 
still  more  by  ocular  evidence  of  the  immense 
destruction  that  the  project  involves.  For 
Japanese  metal  mirrors  (now  being  super- 
seded by  atrocious  cheap  looking-glasses  of 
Western  manufacture)  weU  deserve  to  be 
called  things  of  beauty.  Nobody  unfamiliar 
with  their  gracious  shapes  can  feel  the  charm 
of  the  Oriental  comparison  of  the  moon  to  a 
mirror.  One  side  only  is  polished.  The 
other  is  adorned  with  designs  in  relief  : trees 
or  flowers,  birds  or  animals  or  insects,  land- 
scapes, legends,  symbols  of  good  fortune,  flg- 
ures  of  gods.  Such  are  even  the  commonest 
mirrors.  But  there  are  many  kinds ; and 
some  among  them  very  wonderful,  which  we 
call  “ magic  mirrors,”  — because  when  the  re- 
flection of  one  is  thrown  upon  a screen  or 
wall,  you  can  see,  in  the  disk  of  light,  lumi- 
nous images  of  the  designs  upon  the  hackd 

^ See  article  entitled  “On  the  Magic  Mirrors  of  Japan,” 


78 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


Whether  there  be  any  magic  mirrors  in 
tliat  heap  of  bronze  ex-votos  I cannot  tell ; 
but  there  certainly  are  many  beautiful  things. 
And  there  is  no  little  pathos  in  the  spectacle 
of  all  that  wonderful  quaint  work  thus  cast 
away,  and  destined  soon  to  vanish  utterly. 
Probably  within  another  decade  the  making 
of  mirrors  of  silver  and  mirrors  of  bronze  will 
have  ceased  forever.  Seekers  for  them  will 
then  hear,  with  something  more  than  regret, 
the  story  of  the  fate  of  these. 

Nor  is  this  the  only  pathos  in  the  vision  of 
all  those  domestic  sacrifices  thus  exposed  to 
rain  and  sun  and  trodden  dust  of  streets. 
Surely  the  smiles  of  bride  and  babe  and 
mother  have  been  refiected  in  not  a few : some 
gentle  home  life  must  have  been  imaged  in 
nearly  all.  But  a ghostlier  value  than  mem- 
ory can  give  also  attaches  to  Japanese  mirrors. 
An  ancient  proverb  declares,  “ The  Mirror  is 
the  Soul  of  the  Woman,”  — and  not  merely,  as 
might  be  supposed,  in  a figurative  sense.  For 

hy  Professors  Ayrton  and  Perry,  in  vol.  xxvii.  of  the  Pro- 
ceedings of  the  Royal  Society ; also  an  article  treating-  the 
same  subject  by  the  same  authors  in  vol.  xxii.  of  The  Phil- 
osophical Magazine. 


AT  HAKATA 


79 


countless  legends  relate  that  a mirror  feels  all 
the  joys  or  pains  of  its  mistress,  and  reveals 
in  its  dimness  or  brightness  some  weird  sym- 
pathy with  her  every  emotion.  Wherefore 
mirrors  were  of  old  emplo3^ed  — and  some  say 
are  still  employed  — in  those  magical  rites 
believed  to  influence  life  and  death,  and  were 
buried  with  those  to  whom  they  belonged. 

And  the  spectacle  of  all  those  mouldering 
bronzes  thus  makes  queer  fancies  in  the  mind 
about  wrecks  of  Souls,  — or  at  least  of  soul- 
things.  It  is  even  difficult  to  assure  one’s 
self  that,  of  all  the  movements  and  the  faces 
those  mirrors  once  reflected,  absolutely  no- 
thing now  haunts  them.  One  cannot  help  im- 
agining that  whatever  has  been  must  continue 
to  be  somewhere  ; — that  by  approaching  the 
mirrors  very  stealthily,  and  turning  a few  of 
them  suddenly  face  up  to  the  light,  one  might 
be  able  to  catch  the  Past  in  the  very  act  of 
shrinking  and  shuddering  away. 

Besides,  I must  observe  that  the  pathos  of 
this  exhibition  has  been  specially  intensifled 
for  me  by  one  memory  which  the  sight  of  a 
Japanese  mirror  always  evokes,  — the  memory 
of  the  old  Japanese  story  Matsuyama  no 


80 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


Kagaml.  Thougli  related  in  the  simplest 
manner  and  with  the  fewest  possible  words/  it 
might  well  be  compared  to  those  wonderful 
little  tales  by  Goethe,  of  which  the  meanings 
expand  according  to  the  experience  and  capa- 
city of  the  reader.  Mrs.  James  has  perhaps 
exhausted  the  psychological  possibilities  of  the 
story  in  one  direction  ; and  whoever  can  read 
her  little  book  without  emotion  should  be 
driven  from  the  society  of  mankind.  Even  to 
guess  the  Japanese  idea  of  the  tale,  one  should 
be  able  to  feel  the  intimate  sense  of  the  deli- 
cious colored  prints  accompanying  her  text,  — 
the  interpretation  of  the  last  great  artist  of 
the  Kano  school.  (Foreigners,  unfamiliar 
with  Japanese  home  life,  cannot  fully  perceive 
the  exquisiteness  of  the  drawings  made  for 
the  Fairy-Tale  Series;  but  the  silk-dyers  of 
Kyoto  and  of  Osaka  prize  them  beyond 
measure,  and  reproduce  them  constantly  upon 
the  costliest  textures.)  But  there  are  many 

^ See,  for  Japanese  text  and  translation,  A Somamzed 
Japanese  Reader,  by  Professor  B.  H.  Chamberlain.  The 
beautiful  version  for  children,  written  by  Mrs.  F.  H.  James, 
belong3  to  the  celebrated  Japanese  Fairy-Tale  Series,  pub- 
lished at  Tokyo. 


AT  HAKATA 


81 


versions ; and,  witli  the  following  outline, 
readers  can  readily  make  nineteenth-century 
versions  for  themselves. 

m 

Long  ago,  at  a place  called  Matsuyama,  in 
the  province  of  Echigo,  there  lived  a young 
samurai  husband  and  wife  whose  names  have 
been  quite  forgotten.  They  had  a little 
daughter. 

Once  the  husband  went  to  Yedo,  — prob- 
ably as  a retainer  in  the  train  of  the  Lord  of 
Echigo.  On  his  return  he  brought  presents 
from  the  capital,  — sweet  cakes  and  a doll  for 
the  little  girl  (at  least  so  the  artist  tells  us), 
and  for  his  wife  a mirror  of  silvered  bronze. 
To  the  young  mother  that  mirror  seemed  a 
very  wonderful  thing ; for  it  was  the  first 
mirror  ever  brought  to  Matsuyama.  She  did 
not  understand  the  use  of  it,  and  innocently 
asked  whose  was  the  pretty  smiling  face  she 
saw  inside  it.  When  her  husband  answered 
her,  laughing,  “ Why,  it  is  your  own  face  ! 
How  foolish  you  are  ! ” she  was  ashamed  to 
ask  any  more  questions,  but  hastened  to  put 
her  present  away,  still  thinking  it  to  be  a very 


82 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


mysterious  thing.  And  she  kept  it  hidden 
many  years,  — the  original  story  does  not  say 
why.  Perhaps  for  the  simple  reason  that  in 
aU  countries  love  makes  even  the  most  trifling 
gift  too  sacred  to  be  shown. 

But  in  the  time  of  her  last  sickness  she 
gave  the  mirror  to  her  daughter,  saying, 
“ After  I am  dead  you  must  look  into  this 
mirror  every  morning  and  evening,  and  you 
will  see  me.  Do  not  grieve.”  Then  she  died. 

And  the  girl  thereafter  looked  into  the 
mirror  every  morning  and  evening,  and  did 
not  know  that  the  face  in  the  mirror  was  her 
own  shadow,  — hut  thought  it  to  be  that  of 
her  dead  mother,  whom  she  much  resembled. 
So  she  would  talk  to  the  shadow,  having  the 
sensation,  or,  as  the  Japanese  original  more 
tenderly  says,  “ having  the  heart  of  meeting 
her  mother  ” day  by  day  ; and  she  prized  the 
mirror  above  all  things. 

At  last  her  father  noticed  this  conduct,  and 
thought  it  strange,  and  asked  her  the  reason 
of  it,  whereupon  she  told  him  all.  “ Then,” 
says  the  old  Japanese  narrator,  “ he  thinking 
it  to  be  a very  piteous  thing,  his  eyes  grew 
dark  with  tears.” 


AT  HAKATA 


83 


IV 

Such  is  the  old  story.  . . . But  was  the  art- 
less error  indeed  so  piteous  a thing  as  it 
seemed  to  the  parent?  Or  was  his  emotion 
vain  as  my  own  regret  for  the  destiny  of  all 
those  mirrors  with  all  their  recollections  ? 

I cannot  help  fancying  that  the  innocence 
of  the  maiden  was  nearer  to  eternal  truth  than 
the  feeling  of  the  father.  For  in  the  cosmic 
order  of  things  the  present  is  the  shadow  of 
the  past,  and  the  future  must  he  the  reflection 
of  the  present.  One  are  we  aU,  even  as  Light 
is,  though  unspeakable  the  millions  of  the 
vibrations  whereby  it  is  made.  One  are  we 
all,  — and  yet  many,  because  each  is  a world 
of  ghosts.  Surely  that  girl  saw  and  spoke  to 
her  mother’s  very  soul,  while  seeing  the  fair 
shadow  of  her  o’wn  young  eyes  and  lips,  utter- 
ing love ! 

And,  with  this  thought,  the  strange  display 
in  the  old  temple  court  takes  a new  meaning, 
— becomes  the  symbolism  of  a sublime  expec- 
tation. Each  of  us  is  truly  a mirror,  imaging 
something  of  the  universe,  — reflecting  also 
the  reflection  of  ourselves  in  that  universe ; 


84 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


and  perhaps  the  destiny  of  all  is  to  he  molten 
by  that  mighty  Image-maker,  Death,  into  some 
great  sweet  passionless  unity.  How  the  vast 
work  shall  be  wrought,  only  those  to  come 
after  us  may  know.  We  of  the  present  West 
do  not  know : we  merely  dream.  But  the  an- 
cient East  believes.  Here  is  the  simple  im- 
agery  of  her  faith.  All  forms  must  vanish  at 
last  to  blend  with  that  Being  whose  smile  is 
immutable  Rest,  — whose  knowledge  is  Infi-= 
nite  Vision. 


OF  THE  ETEKNAL  FEMININE 


For  metaphors  of  man  we  search  the  skies, 

And  find  our  allegory  in  all  the  air ; — 

We  gaze  on  Nature  with  Narcissus-eyes, 

Enamoured  of  our  shadow  everywhere. 

Watson. 

I 

What  every  inteUigent  foreigner  dwelling 
in  Japan  must  sooner  or  later  perceive  is,  that 
the  more  the  Japanese  learn  of  our  sesthetics 
and  of  our  emotional  character  generally,  the 
less  favorably  do  they  seem  to  be  impressed 
thereby.  The  European  or  American  who 
tries  to  talk  to  them  about  Western  art,  or 
literature,  or  metaphysics  will  feel  for  their 
sympathy  in  vain.  He  will  be  listened  to  po- 
litely ; but  his  utmost  eloquence  will  scarcely 
elicit  more  than  a few  surprising  comments, 
totally  unlike  what  he  hoped  and  expected  to 
evoke.  Many  successive  disappointments  of 
this  sort  impel  him  to  judge  his  Oriental  au- 
ditors very  much  as  he  would  judge  Western 


86 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


auditors  beliaving  in  a similar  way.  Obvious 
indifference  to  wbat  we  imagine  the  highest 
expression  possible  of  art  and  thought,  we  are 
led  by  our  own  Occidental  experiences  to  take 
for  proof  of  mental  incapacity.  So  we  find 
one  class  of  foreign  observers  calling  the  Jap- 
anese a race  of  children ; while  another,  in- 
cluding a majority  of  those  who  have  jjassed 
many  years  in  the  coimtry,  judge  the  nation 
essentially  materialistic,  despite  the  evidence 
of  its  religions,  its  literature,  and  its  match- 
less art.  I cannot  persuade  myseK  that  either 
of  these  judgments  is  less  fatuous  than  Gold- 
smith’s observation  to  Johnson  about  the  Lit- 
erary Club  : “ There  can  now  be  nothing  new 
among  us ; we  have  traveled  over  one  an- 
other’s minds.”  A cultured  Japanese  might 
well  answer  with  Johnson’s  famous  retort : 
“ Sir,  you  have  not  yet  traveled  over  my  mind, 
I promise  you ! ” And  all  such  sweeping 
criticisms  seem  to  me  due  to  a very  imperfect 
recognition  of  the  fact  that  Japanese  thought 
and  sentiment  have  been  evolved  out  of  an- 
cestral habits,  customs,  ethics,  beliefs,  directly 
the  opposite  of  our  own  in  some  cases,  and  in 
all  cases  strangely  different.  Acting  on  such 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  87 


psychological  material,  modem  scientific  edu- 
cation cannot  but  accentuate  and  develop  race 
differences.  Only  half-education  can  tempt 
the  Japanese  to  servile  imitation  of  Western 
ways.  The  real  mental  and  moral  power  of 
the  race,  its  highest  intellect,  strongly  resists 
W estern  influence  ; and  those  more  competent 
than  I to  pronounce  upon  such  matters  assure 
me  that  this  is  especially  observable  in  the 
case  of  superior  men  who  have  traveled  or 
been  educated  in  Europe.  Indeed,  the  results 
of  the  new  culture  have  served  more  than  aught 
else  to  show  the  immense  force  of  healthy  con- 
servatism in  that  race  superficially  character- 
ized by  Rein  as  a race  of  children.  Even  very 
imperfectly  understood,  the  causes  of  this  Jap- 
anese attitude  to  a certain  class  of  Western 
ideas  might  weU  incite  us  to  reconsider  our 
own  estimate  of  those  ideas,  rather  than  to  tax 
the  Oriental  mind  with  incapacity.  Now,  of 
the  causes  in  question,  which  are  multitudi- 
nous, some  can  only  be  vaguely  guessed  at. 
But  there  is  at  least  one  — a very  important 
one  — which  we  may  safely  study,  because  a 
recognition  of  it  is  forced  upon  any  one  who 
passes  a few  years  in  the  Far  East. 


88 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


n 

“ Teacher,  please  tell  us  why  there  is  so 
much  about  love  and  marrying  in  English 
novels ; — it  seems  to  us  very,  very  strange.” 

This  question  was  put  to  me  while  I was  try- 
ing to  explain  to  my  literature  class  — young 
men  from  nineteen  to  twenty-three  years  of 
age  — why  they  had  failed  to  understand  cer- 
tain chapters  of  a standard  novel,  though  quite 
well  able  to  understand  the  logic  of  Jevons 
and  the  psychology  of  James.  Under  the  cir- 
cumstances, it  was  not  an  easy  question  to 
answer  ; in  fact,  I could  not  have  replied  to  it 
in  any  satisfactory  way  had  I not  already  lived 
for  several  years  in  Japan.  As  it  was,  though 
I endeavored  to  be  concise  as  well  as  lucid, 
my  explanation  occupied  something  more  than 
two  hours. 

There  are  few  of  our  society  novels  that  a 
J apanese  student  can  really  comprehend ; and 
the  reason  is,  simply,  that  English  society  is 
something  of  which  he  is  quite  unable  to  form 
a correct  idea.  Indeed,  not  only  English  so- 
ciety, in  a special  sense,  but  even  Western 
life,  in  a general  sense,  is  a mystery  to  him. 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  89 


Any  social  system  of  whicli  filial  piety  is  not 
the  moral  cement ; any  social  system  in  which 
children  leave  their  parents  in  order  to  estab- 
lish families  of  their  own ; any  social  system 
in  which  it  is  considered  not  only  natural  but 
right  to  love  wife  and  child  more  than  the 
authors  of  one’s  being;  any  social  system  in 
which  marriage  can  be  decided  independently 
of  the  will  of  parents,  by  the  mutual  inclina- 
tion of  the  young  people  themselves ; any  so- 
cial system  in  which  the  mother-in-law  is  not 
entitled  to  the  obedient  service  of  the  daugh- 
ter-in-law, appears  to  him  of  necessity  a state 
of  life  scarcely  better  than  that  of  the  birds  of 
the  air  and  the  beasts  of  the  field,  or  at  best 
a sort  of  moral  chaos.  And  all  this  existence, 
as  reflected  in  our  popular  Action,  presents  him 
with  provoking  enigmas.  Our  ideas  about 
love  and  our  solicitude  about  marriage  furnish 
some  of  these  enigmas.  To  the  yoimg  Japa- 
nese, marriage  appears  a simple,  natural  duty, 
for  the  due  performance  of  which  his  parents 
will  make  all  necessary  arrangements  at  the 
proper  time.  That  foreigners  should  have  so 
much  trouble  about  getting  married  is  puz- 
zling enough  to  him ; but  that  distinguished 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


dO 

authors  should  write  novels  and  poems  about 
such  matters,  and  that  those  novels  and  poems 
should  be  vastly  admired,  puzzles  him  infi- 
nitely more,  — seems  to  him  “ very,  very 
strange.” 

My  young  questioner  said  “ strange  ” for 
politeness’  sake.  His  real  thought  woidd  have 
been  more  accurately  rendered  by  the  word 
“ indecent.”  But  when  I say  that  to  the  Jap- 
anese mind  our  typical  novel  appears  indecent, 
highly  indecent,  the  idea  thereby  suggested  to 
my  English  readers  will  probably  be  mislead- 
ing. The  Japanese  are  not  morbidly  prudish. 
Our  society  novels  do  not  strike  them  as  inde- 
cent because  the  theme  is  love.  The  Japanese 
have  a great  deal  of  literature  about  love.  No  ; 
our  novels  seem  to  them  indecent  for  some- 
what the  same  reason  that  the  Scripture  text, 
“For  this  cause  shall  a man  leave  his  father 
and  mother,  and  shall  cleave  unto  his  wife,” 
appears  to  them  one  of  the  most  immoral  sen- 
tences ever  written.  In  other  words,  their 
criticism  requires  a sociological  explanation. 
To  explain  fully  why  our  novels  are,  to  their 
thinking,  indecent,  I should  have  to  describe 
the  whole  structure,  customs,  and  ethics  of  the 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  91 


Japanese  family,  totally  different  from  any- 
thing in  Western  life ; and  to  do  this  even  in 
a superficial  way  would  require  a volume.  I 
cannot  attempt  a complete  explanation ; I can 
only  cite  some  facts  of  a suggestive  character. 

To  begin  with,  then,  I may  broadly  state 
that  a great  deal  of  our  literature,  besides  its 
fiction,  is  revolting  to  the  Japanese  moral  sense, 
not  because  it  treats  of  the  passion  of  love  per 
se,  but  because  it  treats  of  that  passion  in  re- 
lation to  virtuous  maidens,  and  therefore  in 
relation  to  the  family  circle.  Now,  as  a gen- 
eral rule,  where  passionate  love  is  the  theme  in 
Japanese  literature  of  the  best  class,  it  is  not 
that  sort  of  love  which  leads  to  the  establish- 
ment of  family  relations.  It  is  quite  another 
sort  of  love,  — a sort  of  love  about  which  the 
Oriental  is  not  prudish  at  all,  — the  mayoi, 
or  infatuation  of  passion,  inspired  by  merely 
physical  attraction ; and  its  heroines  are  not 
the  daughters  of  refined  families,  but  mostly 
hetcerm,  or  professional  dancing-girls.  Neither 
does  this  Oriental  variety  of  literature  deal 
with  its  subject  after  the  fashion  of  sensuous 
literature  in  the  West,  — French  literature,  for 
example : it  considers  it  from  a different  artistic 


92 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


standpoint,  and  describes  rather  a different 
order  of  emotional  sensations. 

A national  literature  is  of  necessity  reflec- 
tive ; and  we  may  presume  that  what  it  fails  to 
portray  can  have  little  or  no  outward  manifes- 
tation in  the  national  life.  Now,  the  reserve 
of  Japanese  literature  regarding  that  love 
which  is  the  great  theme  of  our  greatest  novel- 
ists and  poets  is  exactly  paralleled  by  the 
reserve  of  Japanese  society  in  regard  to  the 
same  topic.  The  typical  woman  often  figures 
in  Japanese  romance  as  a heroine ; as  a perfect 
mother ; as  a pious  daughter,  willing  to  sacri- 
fice all  for  duty  ; as  a loyal  wife,  who  follows 
her  husband  into  battle,  fights  by  his  side, 
saves  his  life  at  the  cost  of  her  own ; never  as 
a sentimental  maiden,  dying,  or  making  others 
die,  for  love.  Neither  do  we  find  her  on  lit- 
erary exhibition  as  a dangerous  beauty,  a 
charmer  of  men  ; and  in  the  real  life  of  Japan 
she  has  never  appeared  in  any  such  role.  So- 
ciety, as  a mingling  of  the  sexes,  as  an  exist- 
ence of  which  the  supremely  refined  charm  is 
the  charm  of  woman,  has  never  existed  in  the 
East.  Even  in  Japan,  society,  in  the  special 
sense  of  the  word,  remains  masculine.  Nor  is 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  93 


it  easy  to  believe  that  the  adoption  of  Euro- 
pean fashions  and  customs  within  some  re- 
stricted circles  of  the  capital  indicates  the 
beginning  of  such  a social  change  as  might 
eventually  remodel  the  national  life  according 
to  Western  ideas  of  society.  For  sucb  a re- 
modeling would  involve  the  dissolution  of  the 
family,  the  disintegration  of  the  whole  social 
fabric,  the  destruction  of  the  whole  ethical 
system,  — the  breaking  up,  in  short,  of  the 
national  life. 

Taking  the  word  “ woman  ” in  its  most 
refined  meaning,  and  postulating  a society 
in  which  woman  seldom  appears,  a society  in 
which  she  is  never  placed  “on  display,”  a 
society  in  which  wooing  is  utterly  out  of  the 
question,  and  the  faintest  compliment  to  wife 
or  daughter  is  an  outrageous  impertinence, 
the  reader  can  at  once  reach  some  startling 
conclusions  as  to  the  impression  made  by  our 
popular  fiction  upon  members  of  that  society. 
But,  although  partly  correct,  his  conclusions 
must  fall  short  of  the  truth  in  certain  direc- 
tions, unless  he  also  possess  some  knowledge 
of  the  restraints  of  that  society  and  of  the 
ethical  notions  behind  the  restraints.  For 


94 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


example,  a refined  Japanese  never  speaks  to 
you  about  bis  wife  (I  am  stating  tbe  general 
rule),  and  very  seldom  indeed  about  bis  cbil- 
dren,  however  proud  of  them  be  may  be. 
Rarely  will  be  be  beard  to  speak  about  any  of 
tbe  members  of  bis  family,  about  bis  domestic 
life,  about  any  of  bis  private  affairs.  But  if 
be  should  happen  to  talk  about  members  of 
bis  family,  tbe  persons  mentioned  will  almost 
certainly  be  bis  parents.  Of  them  be  will 
speak  with  a reverence  approaching  religious 
feeling,  yet  in  a manner  quite  different  from 
that  which  would  be  natural  to  an  Occidental, 
and  never  so  as  to  imply  any  mental  compari- 
son between  tbe  merits  of  bis  own  parents  and 
those  of  other  men’s  parents.  But  he  will 
not  talk  about  bis  wife  even  to  tbe  friends 
who  were  invited  as  guests  to  bis  wedding. 
And  I think  I may  safely  say  that  tbe  poorest 
and  most  ignorant  Japanese,  however  dire  bis 
need,  would  never  dream  of  trying  to  obtain 
aid  or  to  invoke  pity  by  tbe  mention  of  bis 
wife  — perhaps  not  even  of  bis  wife  and  chil- 
dren. But  be  would  not  hesitate  to  ask  help 
for  tbe  sake  of  bis  parents  or  bis  grandparents. 
Love  of  wife  and  child,  tbe  strongest  of  all 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  95 


sentiments  witli  the  Occidental,  is  judged  by 
the  Oriental  to  be  a selfish  affection.  He 
professes  to  be  ruled  by  a higher  sentiment, 
— duty  : duty,  first,  to  his  Emperor ; next,  to 
his  parents.  And  since  love  can  be  classed 
only  as  an  ego-altruistic  feeling,  the  Japanese 
thinker  is  not  wrong  in  his  refusal  to  consider 
it  the  loftiest  of  motives,  however  refined  or 
spiritualized  it  may  be. 

In  the  existence  of  the  poorer  classes  of 
J apan  there  are  no  secrets ; but  among  the 
upper  classes  family  life  is  much  less  open  to 
observation  than  in  any  country  of  the  West, 
not  excepting  Spain.  It  is  a life  of  which 
foreigners  see  little,  and  know  almost  nothing, 
all  the  essays  which  have  been  written  about 
Japanese  women  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing.^ Invited  to  the  home  of  a Japa- 
nese friend,  you  may  or  may  not  see  the 
family.  It  will  depend  upon  circumstances. 
If  you  see  any  of  them,  it  will  probably  be 
for  a moment  only,  and  in  that  event  you  will 

1 I do  not,  however,  refer  to  those  extraordinary  persons 
who  make  their  short  residence  in  teahouses  and  establish- 
ments of  a much  worse  kind,  and  then  go  home  to  write 
hooks  about  the  women  of  Japan. 


96 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


most  likely  see  the  wife.  At  the  entrance 
you  give  your  card  to  the  servant,  who  retires 
to  present  it,  and  presently  returns  to  usher 
you  into  the  zashiki,  or  guest-room,  always 
the  largest  and  finest  apartment  in  a Japa- 
nese dwelling,  where  your  kneeling-cushion  is 
ready  for  you,  with  a smoking-box  before  it. 
The  servant  brings  you  tea  and  cakes.  In  a 
little  time  the  host  himself  enters,  and  after 
the  indispensable  salutations  conversation  be- 
gins. Should  you  be  pressed  to  stay  for 
dinner,  and  accept  the  invitation,  it  is  proba- 
ble that  the  wife  will  do  you  the  honor,  as  her 
husband’s  friend,  to  wait  upon  you  during  an 
instant.  You  may  or  may  not  be  formally 
introduced  to  her ; but  a glance  at  her  dress 
and  coiffure  should  be  sufficient  to  inform  you 
at  once  who  she  is,  and  you  must  greet  her 
with  the  most  profound  respect.  She  will 
probably  impress  you  (especially  if  your  visit 
be  to  a samurai  home)  as  a delicately  refined 
and  very  serious  person,  by  no  means  a 
woman  of  the  much-smiling  and  much-bowing 
kind.  She  will  say  extremely  little,  but  will 
salute  you,  and  will  serve  you  for  a moment 
with  a natural  grace  of  which  the  mere  specta- 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  97 


cle  is  a revelation,  and  glide  away  again,  to 
remain  invisible  until  the  instant  of  your 
departure,  when  she  will  reappear  at  the 
entrance  to  wish  you  good-by.  During  other 
suecessive  visits  you  may  have  similar  charm- 
ing glimpses  of  her ; perhaps,  also,  some  rarer 
glimpses  of  the  aged  father  and  mother  ; and 
if  a mueh  favored  visitor,  the  children  may 
at  last  come  to  greet  you,  with  wonderful 
politeness  and  sweetness.  But  the  innermost 
intimate  life  of  that  family  will  never  be  re- 
vealed to  you.  All  that  you  see  to  suggest 
it  will  be  refined,  courteous,  exquisite,  but 
of  the  relation  of  those  souls  to  each  other 
you  will  know  nothing.  Behind  the  beautifid 
screens  which  mask  the  further  interior,  all  is 
silent,  gentle  mystery.  There  is  no  reason,  to 
the  Japanese  mind,  why  it  should  be  other- 
wise. Such  family  life  is  sacred ; the  home 
is  a sanctuary,  of  which  it  were  impious  to 
draw  aside  the  veil.  Nor  can  I think  this 
idea  of  the  sacredness  of  home  and  of  the 
family  relation  in  any  wise  inferior  to  our 
highest  conception  of  the  home  and  the  family 
in  the  West. 

Should  there  be  grown-up  daughters  in  the 


98 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


family,  however,  the  visitor  is  less  likely  to  see 
the  wife.  More  timid,  hut  equally  silent  and 
reserved,  the  young  girls  will  make  the  guest 
welcome.  In  obedience  to  orders,  they  may 
even  gratify  him  by  a performance  upon  some 
musical  instrument,  by  exhibiting  some  of 
their  own  needlework  or  painting,  or  by  show- 
ing to  him  some  precious  or  curious  objects 
among  the  family  heirlooms.  But  all  submis- 
sive sweetness  and  courtesy  are  inseparable 
from  the  high-bred  reserve  belonging  to  the 
finest  native  culture.  And  the  guest  must 
not  allow  himself  to  hejess  reserved.  Unless 
possessing  the  privilege  of  great  age,  which 
would  entitle  him  to  paternal  freedom  of 
speech,  he  must  never  venture  upon  personal 
compliment,  or  indulge  in  anything  resem- 
bling light  flattery.  What  would  be  deemed 
gallanti’y  in  the  West  may  be  gross  rudeness 
in  the  East.  On  no  account  can  the  visitor 
compliment  a young  girl  about  her  looks,  her 
gi’ace,  her  toilette,  much  less  dare  address  such 
a compliment  to  the  wife.  But,  the  reader  may 
object,  there  are  certainly  occasions  upon 
which  a compliment  of  some  character  cannot 
be  avoided.  This  is  true,  and  on  such  an  oc- 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  99 


easion  politeness  requires,  as  a preliminary, 
the  humblest  apology  for  making  the  compli- 
ment, which  will  then  he  accepted  with  a 
phrase  more  graceful  than  our  “ Pray  do  not 
mention  it;”  — that  is,  the  rudeness  of  mak- 
ing a compliment  at  all. 

But  here  we  touch  the  vast  subject  of  J ap- 
anese  etiquette,  about  which  I must  confess 
myself  still  profoundly  ignorant.  I have  ven- 
tured thus  much  only  in  order  to  suggest  how 
lackins:  in  refinement  much  of  our  Western 
society  fiction  must  appear  to  the  Oriental 
mind. 

To  speak  of  one’s  affection  for  wife  or  chil- 
dren, to  bring  into  conversation  anything 
closely  related  to  domestic  life,  is  totally  incom- 
patible with  Japanese  ideas  of  good  breeding. 
Our  open  acknowledgment,  or  rather  exhibi- 
tion, of  the  domestic  relation  consequently  ap- 
pears to  cultivated  Japanese,  if  not  absolutely 
barbarous,  at  least  uxorious.  And  this  senti- 
ment may  be  found  to  explain  not  a little 
in  Japanese  life  which  has  given  foreigners 
a totally  incorrect  idea  about  the  position  of 
Japanese  women.  It  is  not  the  custom  in 
Japan  for  the  husband  even  to  walk  side  by 


100 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


side  with  his  wife  in  the  street,  much  less  to 
give  her  his  arm,  or  to  assist  her  in  ascending 
or  descending  a flight  of  stairs.  But  this  is 
not  any  proof  upon  his  part  of  want  of  affection. 
It  is  only  the  result  of  a social  sentiment  to- 
tally different  from  our  own ; it  is  simply 
obedience  to  an  etiquette  founded  upon  the 
idea  that  public  displays  of  the  marital  relation 
are  improper.  Why  improper?  Because  they 
seem  to  Oriental  judgment  to  indicate  a con- 
fession of  personal,  and  therefore  selfish  senti- 
ment. For  the  Oriental  the  law  of  life  is 
duty.  Affection  must,  in  every  time  and 
place,  be  subordinated  to  duty.  Any  public 
exhibition  of  personal  affection  of  a certain 
class  is  equivalent  to  a public  confession  of 
moral  weakness.  Does  this  mean  that  to  love 
one’s  wife  is  amoral  weakness?  No;  it  is  the 
duty  of  a man  to  love  his  wife ; but  it  is 
moral  weakness  to  love  her  more  than  his 
parents,  or  to  show  her,  in  public,  more  atten- 
tion than  he  shows  to  his  parents.  Nay,  it 
would  be  a proof  of  moral  weakness  to  show 
her  even  the  same  degree  of  attention.  Dur- 
ing the  lifetune  of  the  parents  her  position  in 
the  household  is  simply  that  of  an  adojsted 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  101 


daughter,  and  the  most  affectionate  of  hus- 
bands must  not  even  for  a moment  allow  him- 
self to  forget  the  etiquette  of  the  family. 

Here  I must  touch  upon  one  feature  of 
W estern  literature  never  to  be  reconciled  with 
Japanese  ideas  and  customs.  Let  the  reader 
reflect  for  a moment  how  large  a place  the 
subject  of  kisses  and  caresses  and  embraces 
occupies  in  our  poetry  and  in  our  prose 
fiction  ; and  then  let  him  consider  the  fact  that 
in  Japanese  literature  these  have  no  existence 
whatever.  For  kisses  and  embraces  are  simply 
unknown  in  Japan  as  tokens  of  affection, 
if  we  except  the  solitary  fact  that  Japanese 
mothers,  like  mothers  all  over  the  world,  lip 
and  hug  their  little  ones  betimes.  After  baby- 
hood there  is  no  more  hugging  or  kissing. 
Such  actions,  except  in  the  case  of  infants, 
are  held  to  be  highly  immodest.  Never  do 
girls  kiss  one  another ; never  do  parents  kiss 
or  embrace  their  children  who  have  become 
able  to  walk.  And  this  ride  holds  good  of  all 
classes  of  society,  from  the  highest  nobility  to 
the  humblest  peasantry.  Neither  have  we  the 
least  indication  throughout  Japanese  literature 
of  any  time  in  the  history  of  the  race  when  af- 


102 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


f ection  was  more  demonstrative  than  it  is  to-day. 
Perhaps  the  Western  reader  will  find  it  hard 
even  to  imagine  a literature  in  the  whole 
course  of  which  no  mention  is  made  of  kissing, 
of  embracing,  even  of  pressing  a loved  hand ; 
for  hand-clasping  is  an  action  as  totally  for- 
eign to  Japanese  impulse  as  kissing.  Yet  on 
these  topics  even  the  naive  songs  of  the  coun- 
try folk,  even  the  old  ballads  of  the  people 
about  unhappy  lovers,  are  quite  as  silent  as 
the  exquisite  verses  of  the  court  poets.  Sup- 
pose we  take  for  an  example  the  ancient  popu- 
lar ballad  of  Shuntokumaru,  which  has  given 
origin  to  various  proverbs  and  household 
words  familiar  throughout  western  Japan. 
Here  we  have  the  story  of  two  betrothed 
lovers,  long  separated  by  a cruel  misfortune, 
wandering  in  search  of  each  other  aU  over  the 
Empire,  and  at  last  suddenly  meeting  before 
Kiomidzu  Temple  by  the  favor  of  the  gods. 
Would  not  any  Aryan  poet  describe  such  a 
meeting  as  a rushing  of  the  two  into  each 
other’s  arms,  with  kisses  and  cries  of  love? 
But  how  does  the  old  Japanese  ballad  describe 
it?  In  brief,  the  twain  only  sit  down  to- 
gether  and  st7'oJce  each  othei'  a little.  Now, 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  103 

even  this  reserved  form  of  caress  is  an  ex- 
tremely rare  indulgence  of  emotion.  You 
may  see  again  and  again  fathers  and  sons, 
husbands  and  wives,  mothers  and  daughters, 
meeting  after  years  of  absence,  yet  you  wiU 
probably  never  see  the  least  approach  to  a 
caress  between  them.  They  will  kneel  down 
and  salute  each  other,  and  smile,  and  perhaps 
cry  a little  for  joy ; but  they  will  neither  rush 
into  each  other’s  arms,  nor  utter  extraordinary 
phrases  of  affection.  Indeed,  such  terms  of 
affection  as  “ my  dear,”  “ my  darling,”  “ my 
sweet,”  “ my  love,”  “ my  life,”  do  not  exist 
in  Japanese,  nor  any  terms  at  all  equivalent 
to  our  emotional  idioms.  Japanese  affection 
is  not  nttered  in  words  ; it  scarcely  appears 
even  in  the  tone  of  voice  : it  is  cliiefly  shown 
in  acts  of  exquisite  courtesy  and  kindness.  I 
might  add  that  the  opposite  emotion  is  under 
equally  perfect  control ; but  to  illustrate  this 
remarkable  fact  would  require  a separate  essay. 

in 

He  who  would  study  impartially  the  life 
and  thought  of  the  Orient  must  also  study 
those  of  the  Occident  from  the  Oriental  point 


104  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

of  view.  And  the  results  of  such  a compara- 
tive study  he  will  find  to  be  in  no  small  de- 
gree retroactive.  According  to  his  character 
and  his  faeidty  of  perception,  he  will  be  more 
or  less  affected  by  those  Oriental  influences  to 
which  he  submits  himself.  The  conditions  of 
Western  life  wiU  gradually  begin  to  assume 
for  him  new,  nndi’eamed-of  meanings,  and  to 
lose  not  a few  of  their  old  familiar  asj^ects. 
Much  that  he  once  deemed  right  and  true  he 
may  begin  to  find  abnormal  and  false.  He 
may  begin  to  doubt  whether  the  moral  ideals 
of  the  West  are  really  the  highest.  He  may 
feel  more  than  inclined  to  dispute  the  es- 
timate placed  by  Western  custom  upon  West- 
ern civilization.  Whether  his  doubts  be  final 
is  another  matter : they  will  be  at  least  rational 
enough  and  powerful  enough  to  modify  perma- 
nently some  of  his  prior  convictions,  — among 
others  his  conviction  of  the  moral  value  of  the 
Western  worship  of  Woman  as  the  Unattain- 
able, the  Incomprehensible,  the  Divine,  the 
ideal  of  “ la  femme,  que  tu  ne  connaitras 
pasf^  — the  ideal  of  the  Eternal  Feminine. 
For  in  this  ancient  East  the  Eternal  Feminine 

1 A phrase  from  Baudelaire. 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  105 

does  not  exist  at  all.  And  after  having  be- 
come quite  accustomed  to  live  without  it,  one 
may  naturally  conclude  that  it  is  not  abso- 
lutely essential  to  intellectual  health,  and  may 
even  dare  to  question  the  necessity  for  its  per- 
petual existence  upon  the  other  side  of  the 
world. 

IV 

To  say  that  the  Eternal  Feminine  does  not 
exist  in  the  Far  East  is  to  state  but  a part  of 
the  truth.  That  it  could  be  introduced  there- 
into, in  the  remotest  future,  is  not  possible  to 
imagine.  Few,  if  any,  of  our  ideas  regarding 
it  can  even  be  rendered  into  the  language  of 
the  coimtry : a language  in  which  nouns  have 
no  gender,  adjectives  no  degrees  of  comparison, 
and  verbs  no  persons  ; a language  in  which, 
says  Professor  Chamberlain,  the  absence  of 
personification  is  “a  characteristic  so  deep- 
seated  and  so  all-pervading  as  to  interfere  even 
with  the  use  of  neuter  nouns  in  combination 
with  transitive  verbs.”  ^ “ In  fact,”  he  adds, 

“ most  metaphors  and  allegories  are  incapa- 
ble of  so  much  as  explanation  to  Far-Eastern 

^ See  Things  Japanese,  second  edition,  pp.  255,  256;  arti' 
ele  “ Language.” 


106 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


minds  ; ” and  lie  makes  a striking  citation  from 
Wordsworth  in  illustration  of  his  statement. 
Yet  even  poets  much  more  lucid  than  Words- 
worth are  to  the  Japanese  equally  obscure.  I 
remember  the  difficulty  I once  had  in  explain- 
ing to  an  advanced  class  this  simple  line  from 
a well-known  ballad  of  Tennyson,  — 

“ She  is  more  beautiful  than  day.” 

My  students  could  understand  the  use  of  the 
adjective  “beautiful”  to  qualify  “day,”  and 
the  use  of  the  same  adjective,  separately,  to 
qualify  the  word  “ maid.”  But  that  there 
could  exist  in  any  mortal  mind  the  least  idea 
of  analogy  between  the  beauty  of  day  and  the 
beauty  of  a young  woman  was  quite  beyond 
their  understanding.  In  order  to  convey  to 
them  the  poet’s  thought,  it  was  necessary  to 
analyze  it  psychologically,  — to  prove  a pos- 
sible nervous  analogy  between  two  modes  of 
pleasurable  feeling  excited  by  two  different 
impressions. 

Thus,  the  very  nature  of  the  language  tells 
us  how  ancient  and  how  deeply  rooted  in  racial 
character  are  those  tendencies  by  which  we 
must  endeavor  to  account  — if  there  be  any 
need  of  accounting  at  all  — for  the  absence  in 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  107 


this  Far  East  of  a dominant  ideal  correspond- 
ing to  our  own.  They  are  causes  incompar- 
ably older  than  the  existing  social  structure, 
older  than  the  idea  of  the  family,  older  than 
ancestor  worship,  enormously  older  than  that 
Confucian  code  which  is  the  reflection  rather 
than  the  explanation  of  many  singular  facts  in 
Oriental  life.  But  since  beliefs  and  practices 
react  upon  character,  and  character  again 
must  react  upon  practices  and  beliefs,  it  has 
not  been  altogether  irrational  to  seek  in  Con- 
fucianism for  causes  as  well  as  for  explana- 
tions. Far  more  irrational  have  been  the 
charges  of  hasty  critics  against  Shinto  and 
against  Buddhism  as  religious  influences  op- 
posed to  the  natural  rights  of  woman.  The 
ancient  faith  of  Shinto  has  been  at  least  as 
gentle  to  woman  as  the  ancient  faith  of  the 
Hebrews.  Its  female  divinities  are  not  less 
numerous  than  its  masculine  divinities,  nor  are 
they  presented  to  the  imagination  of  worship- 
ers in  a form  much  less  attractive  than  the 
dreams  of  Greek  mythology.  Of  some,  like 
So-tohori-no-Iratsume,  it  is  said  that  the  light 
of  their  beautiful  bodies  passes  through  their 
garments ; and  the  source  of  all  life  and  light, 


108 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


the  eternal  Sun,  is  a goddess,  fair  Ama-terasu- 
oho-mi-kami.  Virgins  serve  the  ancient  gods, 
and  figure  in  all  the  pageants  of  the  faith ; and 
in  a thousand  shrines  throughout  the  land  the 
memory  of  woman  as  wife  and  mother  is  wor- 
shiped equally  with  the  memory  of  man  as 
hero  and  father.  Neither  can  the  later  and 
alien  faith  of  Buddhism  be  justly  accused  of 
relegating  woman  to  a lower  place  in  the  spir- 
itual world  than  monkish  Christianity  accorded 
her  in  the  W est.  The  Buddha,  like  the  Christ, 
was  horn  of  a virgin ; the  most  lovable  divin- 
ities of  Buddhism,  Jizo  excepted,  are  feminine, 
both  in  Japanese  art  and  in  Japanese  popular 
fancy ; and  in  the  Buddhist  as  in  the  Roman 
Catholic  hagiography,  the  lives  of  holy  women 
hold  honored  place.  It  is  true  that  Buddliism, 
like  early  Christianity,  used  its  utmost  elo- 
quence in  preaching  against  the  temptation  of 
female  loveliness ; and  it  is  true  that  in  the 
teaching  of  its  founder,  as  in  the  teaching  of 
Paul,  social  and  spiritual  supremacy  is  accorded 
to  the  man.  Yet,  in  our  search  for  texts  on 
this  topic,  we  must  not  overlook  the  host  of 
instances  of  favor  shown  by  the  Buddha  to 
women  of  all  classes,  nor  that  remarkable 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  109 

legend  of  a later  text,  in  which  a dogma  de- 
nying to  woman  the  highest  spiritual  oppor- 
tunities is  sublimely  rebuked. 

In  the  eleventh  chapter  of  the  Sutra  of  the 
Lotus  of  the  Good  Law,  it  is  written  that  men- 
tion was  made  before  the  Lord  Buddha  of  a 
young  girl  who  had  in  one  instant  arrived  at 
supreme  knowledge  ; who  had  in  one  moment 
acquired  the  merits  of  a thousand  meditations, 
and  the  proofs  of  the  essence  of  all  laws.  And 
the  girl  came  and  stood  in  the  presence  of  the 
Lord. 

But  the  Bodhissattva  Pragnakuta  doubted, 
saying,  “ I have  seen  the  Lord  Sakyamxxni  in 
the  time  when  he  was  striving  for  supreme 
enlightenment,  and  I know  that  he  performed 
good  works  innumerable  through  countless 
aeons.  In  all  the  world  there  is  not  one  spot 
so  large  as  a grain  of  mustard-seed  where  he 
has  not  surrendered  his  body  for  the  sake  of 
living  creatures.  Only  after  all  this  did  he 
arrive  at  enlightenment.  Who  then  may  be- 
lieve this  girl  could  in  one  moment  have 
arrived  at  supreme  knowledge  ? ” 

And  the  venerable  priest  Sariputra  likewise 


110 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


doubted,  saying,  “ It  may  in^leed  happen,  O 
Sister,  that  a woman  fulfill  the  six  perfect 
virtues ; but  as  yet  there  is  no  example  of 
her  having  attained  to  Buddhaship,  because  a 
woman  cannot  attain  to  the  rank  of  a Bodhis- 
sattva.” 

But  the  maiden  called  upon  the  Lord  Bud- 
dha to  be  her  witness.  And  instantly  in  the 
sight  of  the  assembly  her  sex  disappeared; 
and  she  manifested  herself  as  a Bodhissattva, 
filling  all  directions  of  space  with  the  radiance 
of  the  thirty-two  signs.  And  the  world  shook 
in  six  different  ways.  And  the  priest  Sari- 
putra  was  silent.^ 

V 

But  to  feel  the  real  nature  of  what  is  surely 
one  of  the  greatest  obstacles  to  intellectual 
sympathy  between  the  West  and  the  Far  East, 
we  must  fully  appreciate  the  immense  effect 
upon  Occidental  life  of  this  ideal  which  has  no 
existence  in  the  Orient.  We  must  remember 
what  that  ideal  has  been  to  Western  civiliza- 

^ See  the  -whole  wonderful  passage  in  Kern’s  translation 
of  this  magnificent  Sutra,  Sacred  Books  of  the  East,  vol.  xxi. 
chap.  xi. 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  111 


tion,  — to  all  its^leasures  and  refinements  and 
luxuries  ; to  its  sculpture,  painting,  decoration, 
architecture,  literature,  drama,  music ; to  the 
development  of  countless  industries.  We  must 
think  of  its  effect  upon  manners,  customs,  and 
the  language  of  taste,  upon  conduct  and  ethics, 
upon  endeavor,  upon  philosophy  and  religion, 
upon  almost  every  phase  of  public  and  private 
life,  — in  short,  upon  national  character.  Nor 
should  we  forget  that  the  many  influences 
interfused  in  the  shaping  of  it  — Teutonic, 
Celtic,  Scandinavian,  classic,  or  mediaeval,  the 
Greek  apotheosis  of  human  beauty,  the  Chris- 
tian worship  of  the  mother  of  God,  the  ex- 
altations of  chivalry,  tke  spirit  of  the  Eenas- 
cence  steeping  and  coloring  all  the  preexisting 
idealism  in  a new  sensuousness  — must  have 
had  their  nourishment,  if  not  their  birth,  in  a 
race  feeling  ancient  as  Aryan  speech,  and  as 
alien  the  most  eastern  East. 

Of  all  these  various  influences  combined  to 
form  our  ideal,  the  classic  element  remains 
perceptibly  dominant.  It  is  true  that  the 
Hellenic  conception  of  human  beauty,  so  sui’- 
viving,  has  been  wondrously  informed  with  a 
conception  of  soul  beauty  never  of  the  antique 


112  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

world  nor  of  the  Renascence.  Also  it  is  true 
that  the  new  philosophy  of  evolution,  forcing 
recognition  of  the  incalculable  and  awful  cost 
of  the  Present  to  the  Past,  creating  a totally 
new  comprehension  of  duty  to  the  Future, 
enormously  enhancing  our  conception  of  char- 
acter values,  has  aided  more  than  all  preced- 
ing influences  together  toward  the  highest 
possible  spiritualization  of  the  ideal  of  woman. 
Yet,  however  further  spiritualized  it  may 
become  tlu'ough  future  intellectual  expansion, 
this  ideal  must  in  its  very  nature  remain  fun- 
damentally artistic  and  sensuous. 

We  do  not  see  Nature  as  the  Oriental  sees 
it,  and  as  his  art  proves  that  he  sees  it.  We 
see  it  less  realistically,  we  know  it  less  inti- 
mately, because,  save  through  the  lenses  of 
the  specialist,  we  contemplate  it  anthropomor- 
phieally.  In  one  direction,  indeed,  our 
sesthetic  sense  has  been  cultivated  to  a degree 
incomparably  finer  than  that  of  the  Oriental  ,* 
but  that  direction  has  been  passional.  We 
have  learned  something  of  the  beauty  of 
Nature  through  our  ancient  worship  of  the 
beauty  of  woman.  Even  from  the  beginning 
it  is  probable  that  the  perception  of  human 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  113 


beauty  lias  been  tbe  main  source  of  all  our 
aesthetic  sensibility.  Possibly  we  owe  to  it 
likewise  our  idea  of  proportion ; ^ our  exagger- 
ated appreciation  of  regidarity ; our  fondness 
for  parallels,  curves,  and  all  geometrical  sym- 
metries. And  in  the  long  process  of  our 
aesthetic  evolution,  the  ideal  of  woman  has  at 
last  become  for  us  an  aesthetic  abstraction. 
Through  the  illusion  of  that  abstraction  only 
do  we  perceive  the  charms  of  our  world,  even 
as  forms  might  be  perceived  through  some 
tropic  atmosphere  whose  vapors  are  iridescent. 

Nor  is  this  all.  Whatsoever  has  once  been 
likened  to  woman  by  art  or  thought  has  been 
strangely  informed  and  transformed  by  that 
momentary  symbolism : wherefore,  through 
all  the  centuries  W estern  fancy  has  been  mak- 
ing Nature  more  and  more  feminine.  What- 
soever delights  us  imagination  has  feminized, 
— the  infinite  tenderness  of  the  sky,  — the 
mobility  of  waters,  — the  rose  of  dawn,  — the 
vast  caress  of  Day,  — Night,  and  the  lights  of 
heaven,  — even  the  imdulations  of  the  eternal 

1 On  the  origin  of  the  idea  of  bilateral  symmetry,  see 
Herbert  Spencer’s  essay,  “The  Sources  of  Architectural 
Types.” 


114 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


hills.  And  flowers,  and  the  flush  of  fruit,  and 
all  things  fragrant,  fair,  and  gracious ; the 
genial  seasons  with  their  voices ; the  laughter 
of  streams,  and  whisper  of  leaves,  and  ripplings 
of  song  within  the  shadows  ; — all  sights,  or 
sounds,  or  sensations  that  can  touch  our  love 
of  loveliness,  of  delicacy,  of  sweetness,  of 
gentleness,  make  for  us  vague  dreams  of 
woman.  Where  our  fancy  lends  masculinity 
to  Nature,  it  is  only  in  grimness  and  in  force, 
• — as  if  to  enhance  by  rugged  and  mighty 
contrasts  the  witchcraft  of  the  Eternal  Fem- 
inine. Nay,  even  the  terrible  itself,  if  fraught 
with  terrible  beauty,  — even  Destruction,  if 
only  shaped  with  the  grace  of  destroyers, — 
becomes  for  us  feminine.  And  not  beauty 
alone,  of  sight  or  sound,  but  well-nigh  all  that 
is  mystic,  sublime,  or  holy,  now  makes  appeal 
to  us  through  some  marvelously  woven  intri- 
cate plexus  of  passional  sensibility.  Even  the 
subtlest  forces  of  our  universe  speak  to  us  of 
woman ; new  sciences  have  taught  us  new 
names  for  the  thrill  her  presence  wakens  in 
the  blood,  for  that  ghostly  shock  which  is  first 
love,  for  the  eternal  riddle  of  her  fascination. 
Thus,  out  of  simijle  human  passion,  through 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  115 

influences  and  transformations  innumerable, 
we  have  evolved  a cosmic  emotion,  a feminine 
pantheism. 

VI 

And  now  may  not  one  venture  to  ask 
whether  all  the  consequences  of  this  passional 
influence  in  the  aesthetic  evolution  of  our  Oc- 
cident have  been  in  the  main  beneficial  ? 
Underlying  all  those  visible  results  of  which 
we  boast  as  art  triumphs,  may  there  not  be 
lurking  invisible  results,  some  future  revela- 
tion of  which  will  cause  more  than  a little 
shock  to  our  self-esteem  ? Is  it  not  quite  pos- 
sible that  our  aesthetic  faculties  have  been 
developed  even  abnormally  in  one  direction 
by  the  power  of  a single  emotional  idea  which 
has  left  us  nearly,  if  not  totally  blind  to 
many  wonderful  aspects  of  Nature  ? Or  ra- 
ther, must  not  this  be  the  inevitable  effect  of 
the  extreme  predominance  of  one  particular 
emotion  in  the  evolution  of  onr  aesthetic  sen- 
sibility ? And  finally,  one  may  surely  be  per- 
mitted to  ask  if  the  predominating  influence 
itself  has  been  the  highest  possible,  and 
whether  there  is  not  a higher,  known  perhaps 
to  the  Oriental  soul. 


116 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


I may  only  suggest  these  questions,  without 
hoiDing  to  answer  them  satisfactorily.  But 
the  longer  I dwell  in  the  East,  the  more  I 
feel  growing  upon  me  the  belief  that  there  are 
exquisite  artistic  faculties  and  perceptions, 
developed  in  the  Oriental,  of  which  we  can 
know  scarcely  more  than  we  know  of  those 
unimaginable  colors,  invisible  to  the  human 
eye,  yet  proven  to  exist  by  the  spectroscope. 
I think  that  such  a possibility  is  indicated  by 
certain  phases  of  Japanese  art. 

Here  it  becomes  as  difficult  as  dangerous  to 
particularize.  I dare  hazard  only  some  gen- 
eral observations.  I think  this  marvelous  art 
asserts  that,  out  of  the  infinitely  varied  aspects 
of  Nature,  those  which  for  us  hold  no  sugges- 
tion whatever  of  sex  character,  those  which 
cannot  he  looked  at  anthropomorphically, 
those  which  are  neither  mascidine  nor  fem- 
inine, but  neuter  or  nameless,  are  those  most 
profoundly  loved  and  comprehended  by  the 
Japanese.  Nay,  he  sees  in  Nature  much  that 
for  thousands  of  years  has  remained  invisible 
to  us ; and  we  are  now  learning  from  him 
aspects  of  life  and  beauties  of  form  to  which 
we  were  utterly  blind  before.  We  have  finally 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  117 


made  the  startling  discovery  that  his  art  — • 
notwithstanding  all  the  dogmatic  assertions  of 
Western  prejudice  to  the  contrary,  and  not- 
withstanding the  strangely  weird  impression 
of  imreality  which  at  first  it  produced  — is 
never  a mere  creation  of  fantasy,  but  a veri- 
table reflection  of  what  has  been  and  of  what 
is  : wherefore  we  have  recognized  that  it  is 
nothing;  less  than  a hig;her  education  in  art 
simply  to  look  at  his  studies  of  bird  life, 
insect  life,  plant  life,  tree  life.  Compare,  for 
example,  our  very  finest  drawings  of  insects 
with  Japanese  drawings  of  similar  subjects. 
Compare  Giacomelli’s  illustrations  to  Miche- 
let’s “ L’Insecte  ” with  the  commonest  Japan- 
ese figures  of  the  same  creatures  decorating 
the  stamped  leather  of  a cheap  tobacco  pouch 
or  the  metal  work  of  a cheap  pipe.  The  whole 
minute  exquisiteness  of  the  European  engrav- 
ing has  accomplished  only  an  indifferent  real- 
ism, while  the  Japanese  artist,  with  a few 
dashes  of  his  brush,  has  seized  and  repro- 
duced, with  an  incomprehensible  power  of 
interpretation,  not  only  every  peculiarity  of 
the  creature’s  shape,  but  every  special  char- 
acteristic of  its  motion.  Each  figure  flung 


118 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


from  the  Oriental  painter’s  brush  is  a lesson, 
a revelation,  to  perceptions  unheclouded  hy 
prejudice,  an  opening  of  the  eyes  of  those  who 
can  see,  though  it  he -only  a spider  in  a wind- 
shaken  web,  a dragon-fly  riding  a sunbeam, 
a pair  of  crabs  running  through  sedge,  the 
trembling  of  a fish’s  fins  in  a clear  current,  the 
lilt  of  a flying  wasp,  the  pitch  of  a flying 
duck,  a mantis  in  fighting  position,  or  a semi 
toddling  up  a cedar  branch  to  sing.  All  this 
art  is  alive,  intensely  alive,  and  our  corre- 
sponding art  looks  absolutely  dead  beside  it. 

Take,  again,  the  subject  of  flowers.  An 
English  or  German  flower  painting,  the  result 
of  months  of  trained  labor,  and  valued  at  sev- 
eral hundred  pounds,  would  certainly  not  com- 
pare as  a nature  study,  in  the  higher  sense, 
with  a Japanese  flower  painting  executed  in 
twenty  brush  strokes,  and  worth  perhaps  five 
sen.  The  former  would  represent  at  best  but 
an  ineffectual  and  painful  effort  to  imitate  a 
massing  of  colors.  The  latter  would  prove  a 
perfect  memory  of  certain  flower  shapes  in- 
stantaneously flung  upon  paper,  without  any 
model  to  aid,  and  showing,  not  the  recollection 
of  any  individual  blossom,  but  the  perfect 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  119 


realization  of  a general  law  of  form  expression, 
perfectly  mastered,  with  all  its  moods,  tenses, 
and  inflections.  The  French  alone,  among 
Western  art  critics,  seem  fully  to  understand 
these  features  of  Japanese  art ; and  among  all 
Western  artists  it  is  the  Parisian  alone  who 
approaches  the  Oriental  in  his  methods. 
Without  lifting  his  brush  from  the  paper,  the 
French  artist  may  sometimes,  with  a single 
wavy  line,  create  the  almost  speaking  figure  of 
a particular  type  of  man  or  woman.  But  this 
high  development  of  facidty  is  confined  chiefly 
to  humorous  sketching ; it  is  still  either  mas- 
culine or  feminine.  To  understand  what  I 
mean  by  the  ability  of  the  Japanese  artist,  my 
reader  must  imagine  just  such  a power  of 
almost  instantaneous  creation  as  that  which 
characterizes  certain  French  work,  applied  to 
almost  every  subject  except  individuality,  to 
nearly  all  recognized  general  types,  to  all 
aspects  of  Japanese  nature,  to  all  forms  of  na- 
tive landscape,  to  clouds  and  flowing  water 
and  mists,  to  all  the  life  of  woods  and  fields, 
to  all  the  moods  of  seasons  and  the  tones  of 
horizons  and  the  colors  of  the  morning  and 
the  evening.  Certainly,  the  deeper  spirit  of 


120 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


this  magical  art  seldom  reveals  itself  at  first 
sight  to  unaccustomed  eyes,  since  it  appeals 
to  so  little  in  Western  aesthetic  experiencco 
But  by  gentle  degrees  it  will  so  enter  into  an 
appreciative  and  unprejudiced  mind  as  to 
modify  profoundly  therein  almost  every  pre- 
existing sentiment  in  relation  to  the  beautiful. 
All  of  its  meaning  will  indeed  require  many 
years  to  master,  but  something  of  its  reshaping 
power  will  be  felt  in  a much  shorter  time 
when  the  sight  of  an  American  illustrated 
magazine  or  of  any  illustrated  European  peri- 
odical has  become  almost  unbearable. 

Psychological  differences  of  far  deeper  im- 
port are  suggested  by  other  facts,  capable  of 
exposition  in  words,  but  not  capable  of  inter- 
pretation through  Western  standards  of  aes- 
thetics or  Western  feeling  of  any  sort.  For 
instance,  I have  been  watching  two  old  men 
planting  young  trees  in  the  garden  of  a neigh- 
boring temple.  They  sometimes  spend  nearly 
an  hour  in  planting  a single  sapling.  Hav- 
ing fixed  it  in  the  ground,  they  retire  to  a dis- 
tance to  study  the  position  of  all  its  lines,  and 
consult  together  about  it.  As  a consequence, 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  121 


the  sapling  is  taken  up  and  replanted  in  a 
slightly  different  position.  This  is  done  no  less 
than  eight  times  before  the  little  tree  can  be 
perfectly  adjusted  into  the  plan  of  the  garden. 
Those  two  old  men  are  composing  a mysteri- 
ous thought  with  their  little  trees,  changing 
them,  transferring  them,  removing  or  repla- 
cing them,  even  as  a poet  changes  and  shifts 
his  words,  to  give  to  his  verse  the  most  deli- 
cate or  the  most  forcible  expression  possible. 

In  every  large  Japanese  cottage  there  are 
several  alcoves,  or  tokonoma,  one  in  each  of 
the  principal  rooms.  In  these  alcoves  the  art 
treasures  of  the  family  are  exhibited.^  Within 
each  toko  a kakemono  is  hung ; and  upon  its 

1 The  tokonoma,  or  toko,  is  said  to  have  been  first  in- 
troduced into  Japanese  architecture  about  four  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago,  by  the  Buddhist  priest  Eisai,  who  had 
studied  in  China.  Perhaps  the  alcove  was  originally  de- 
vised and  used  for  the  exhibition  of  sacred  objects ; but  to- 
day, among  the  cultivated,  it  would  he  deemed  in  very  bad 
taste  to  display  either  images  of  the  gods  or  sacred  paint- 
ings in  the  toko  of  a guest-room.  The  toko  is  still,  how- 
ever, a sacred  place  in  a certain  sense.  No  one  should  ever 
step  upon  it,  or  squat  within  it,  or  even  place  in  it  anything 
not  pure,  or  anything  offensive  to  taste.  There  is  an  elabo- 
rate code  of  etiquette  in  relation  to  it.  The  most  honored 
among  guests  is  always  placed  nearest  to  it ; and  guests 
take  their  places,  according  to  rank,  nearer  to  or  further 
from  it. 


122 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


slightly  elevated  floor  (usually  of  polished 
wood)  are  placed  flower  vases  aud  one  or  two 
artistic  objects.  Flowers  are  arranged  in  the 
toko  vases  according  to  ancient  rules  which 
Mr.  Conder’s  beautiful  book  wiU  tell  you  a 
great  deal  about ; and  the  kakemono  and  the 
art  objects  there  displayed  are  changed  at 
regular  intervals,  according  to  occasion  and 
season.  Now,  in  a certain  alcove,  I have  at 
various  times  seen  many  different  things  of 
beauty : a Chinese  statuette  of  ivory,  an  in- 
cense vase  of  bronze,  — representing  a cloud- 
riding pair  of  dragons,  — the  wood  carving  of 
a Buddhist  pilgrim  resting  by  the  wayside 
and  mopping  his  bald  pate,  masterpieces  of 
lacquer  ware  and  lovely  Kyoto  porcelains,  and 
a large  stone  placed  on  a pedestal  of  heavy, 
costly  wood,  expressly  made  for  it.  I do  not 
know  whether  you  could  see  any  beauty  in 
that  stone ; it  is  neither  hewn  nor  polished, 
nor  does  it  possess  the  least  imaginable  intrin- 
sic value.  It  is  simply  a gray  water-worn 
stone  from  the  bed  of  a stream.  Yet  it  cost 
more  than  one  of  those  Kyoto  vases  which 
sometimes  replace  it,  and  which  you  would  be 
glad  to  pay  a very  high  price  for. 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  123 


In  the  garden  of  the  little  house  I now  oc- 
cupy in  Kumamoto,  there  are  about  fifteen 
rocks,  or  large  stones,  of  as  many  shapes  and 
sizes.  They  also  have  no  real  intrinsic  value, 
not  even  as  possible  building  material.  And 
yet  the  proprietor  of  the  garden  paid  for  them 
something  more  than  seven  hundred  and  fifty 
Japanese  dollars,  or  considerably  more  than 
the  pretty  house  itself  could  possibly  have 
cost.  And  it  would  be  quite  wrong  to  suppose 
the  cost  of  the  stones  due  to  the  expense  of 
their  transportation  from  the  bed  of  the  Shira- 
kawa.  No ; they  are  worth  seven  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  only  because  they  are  consid- 
ered beautiful  to  a certain  degree,  and  because 
there  is  a large  local  demand  for  beautiful 
stones.  They  are  not  even  of  the  best  class, 
or  they  would  have  cost  a great  deal  more. 
Now,  until  you  can  perceive  that  a big  rough 
stone  may  have  more  sesthetic  suggestiveness 
than  a costly  steel  engraving,  that  it  is  a thing 
of  beauty  and  a joy  forever,  you  cannot  begin 
to  understand  how  a Japanese  sees  Nature. 
“ But  what,”  you  may  ask,  “ can  be  beautiful 
in  a common  stone  ? ” Many  things  | but  I 
will  mention  only  one,  — irregularity. 


124 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


In  my  little  Japanese  house,  the  fusuma,  or 
sliding  screens  of  opaque  paper  between  room 
and  room,  have  designs  at  which  I am  never 
tired  of  looking.  The  designs  vary  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  dwelling ; I will  speak  only 
of  the  fusuma  dividing  my  study  from  a 
smaller  apartment.  The  ground  color  is  a 
delicate  cream-yellow  ; and  the  golden  jjattern 
is  very  simple,  — the  mystic-jewel  symbols  of 
Buddhism  scattered  over  the  surface  by  pairs. 
But  no  two  sets  of  pairs  are  placed  at  exactly 
the  same  distance  from  each  other;  and  the 
symbols  themselves  are  curiously  diversified, 
never  appearing  twice  in  exactly  the  same  po- 
sition or  relation.  Sometimes  one  jewel  is 
transparent,  and  its  fellow  opaque  ; sometimes 
both  are  opaque  or  both  diaphanous ; some- 
times the  transparent  one  is  the  larger  of  the 
two ; sometimes  the  ojjaque  is  the  larger ; some- 
times both  are  precisely  the  same  size  ; some- 
times they  overlap,  and  sometimes  do  not 
touch ; sometimes  the  opaque  is  on  the  left, 
sometimes  on  the  right ; sometimes  the  trans- 
parent jewel  is  above,  sometimes  below. 
Vainly  does  the  eye  roam  over  the  whole  sur- 
face in  search  of  a repetition,  or  of  anything 


OF  THE  ETERNAL  FEMININE  125 


resembling-  regularity,  either  in  distribution, 
juxtaposition,  grouping,  dimensions,  or  con- 
trasts. And  tbrongbout  the  whole  dwelling 
nothing  resembling  regularity  in  the  various 
decorative  designs  can  be  found.  The  ingenu- 
ity by  which  it  is  avoided  is  amazing,  — rises 
to  the  dignify  of  genius.  Now,  all  this  is  a 
common  characteristic  of  Japanese  decorative 
art ; and  after  having  lived  a few  years  under 
its  influences,  the  sight  of  a regular  pattern 
upon  a wall,  a carpet,  a curtain,  a ceiling, 
upon  any  decorated  surface,  pains  like  a horri- 
ble vulgarism.  Surely,  it  is  because  we  have 
so  long  been  accustomed  to  look  at  Nature 
anthropomorphieally  that  we  can  still  endure 
mechanical  ugliness  in  our  own  decorative  art, 
and  that  we  remain  insensible  to  charms  of 
Nature  which  are  clearly  perceived  even  by 
the  eyes  of  the  Japanese  child,  wondering  over 
its  mother’s  shoulder  at  the  green  and  blue 
wonder  of  the  world. 

“ ATe,”  saith  a Buddhist  text,  ‘•'•who  discerns 
that  nothingness  is  law.,  — such  a one  hath 
wisdom.'’’ 


V 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 
I 

July  25.  Three  extraordinary  visits  have 
been  made  to  my  house  this  week. 

The  first  was  that  of  the  professional  well- 
cleaners.  For  once  every  year  all  wells  must 
be  emptied  and  cleansed,  lest  the  God  of 
Wells,  Suijin-Sama,  be  wroth.  On  this  oc- 
casion I learned  some  things  relating  to  Jap- 
anese wells  and  the  tutelar  deity  of  them, 
who  has  two  names,  being  also  called  Mizuha- 
nome-no-mikoto. 

Suijin-Sama  protects  all  wells,  keeping  their 
water  sweet  and  cool,  provided  that  house- 
owners observe  his  laws  of  cleanliness,  which 
are  rigid.  To  those  who  break  them  sickness 
comes,  and  death.  Rarely  the  god  manifests 
himself,  taking  the  form  of  a serpent.  I have 
never  seen  any  temple  dedicated  to  him.  But 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  127 


once  each  montli  a Sliinto  priest  visits  tlie 
homes  of  pious  families  having  wells,  and  he 
repeats  certain  ancient  prayers  to  the  Well- 
God,  and  plants  nobori,  little  paper  flags, 
which  are  symbols,  at  the  edge  of  the  well. 
After  the  well  has  been  cleaned,  also,  this  is 
done.  Then  the  first  bucket  of  the  new  water 
must  be  drawn  up  by  a man  ; for  if  a woman 
first  draw  water,  the  well  will  always  there- 
after remain  muddy. 

The  god  has  little  servants  to  help  him  in 
his  work.  These  are  the  small  fishes  the  Jap- 
anese call  funa.^  One  or  two  funa  are  kept 
in  every  well,  to  clear  the  water  of  larvse. 
When  a well  is  cleaned,  great  care  is  taken 
of  the  little  fish.  It  was  on  the  occasion  of 
the  coming  of  the  well-cleaners  that  I first 
learned  of  the  existence  of  a pair  of  funa  in 
my  own  well.  They  were  placed  in  a tub 
of  cool  water  while  the  well  was  refilling, 
and  thereafter  were  replunged  into  their  soli- 
tude. 

The  water  of  my  well  is  clear  and  ice-cold. 
But  now  I can  never  drink  of  it  without  a 
thought  of  those  two  small  white  lives  cir- 

^ A sort  of  small  silver  carp. 


128 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


cling  always  in  darkness,  and  startled  through 
untold  years  by  the  descent  of  plashing 
buckets. 

The  second  curious  visit  was  that  of  the  dis- 
trict firemen,  in  full  costume,  with  their  hand- 
engines.  According  to  ancient  custom,  they 
make  a round  of  aU  their  district  once  a year 
during  the  dry  spell,  and  throw  water  over  the 
hot  roofs,  and  receive  some  small  perquisite 
from  each  wealthy  householder.  There  is  a 
belief  that  when  it  has  not  rained  for  a long 
time  roofs  may  be  ignited  by  the  mere  heat  of 
the  sun.  The  firemen  played  with  their  hose 
upon  my  roofs,  trees,  and  garden,  producing 
considerable  refreshment ; and  in  return  I be- 
stowed on  them  wherewith  to  buy  sake. 

The  third  visit  was  that  of  a deputation  of 
children  asking  for  some  help  to  celebrate  fit- 
tingly the  festival  of  Jizo,  who  has  a shrine 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  exactly  oppo- 
site my  house.  I was  very  glad  to  contribute 
to  their  fund,  for  I love  the  gentle  god,  and  I 
knew  the  festival  would  be  delightful.  Early 
next  morning,  I saw  that  the  shrine  had  al- 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  129 


ready  been  decked  with  flowers  and  votive 
lanterns.  A new  bib  bad  been  put  about 
Jko’s  neck,  and  a Buddhist  repast  set  before 
him.  Later  on,  carpenters  constructed  a 
dancing-platform  in  the  temple  court  for  the 
children  to  dance  upon ; and  before  sundown 
the  toy-seUers  had  erected  and  stocked  a small 
street  of  booths  inside  the  precincts.  After 
dark  I went  out  into  a great  glory  of  lantern 
fires  to  see  the  children  dance ; and  I found, 
perched  before  my  gate,  an  enormous  dragon- 
fly more  than  three  feet  long.  It  was  a token 
of  the  children’s  gratitude  for  the  little  help  I 
had  given  them,  — a kazari,  a decoration.  I 
was  startled  for  the  moment  by  the  realism  of 
the  thing ; but  upon  close  examination  I dis- 
covered that  the  body  was  a pine  branch 
wrapped  with  colored  paper,  the  four  wings 
were  four  fire-shovels,  and  the  gleaming  head 
was  a little  teapot.  The  whole  was  lighted  by 
a candle  so  placed  as  to  make  extraordinary 
shadows,  which  formed  part  of  the  design. 
It  was  a wonderful  instance  of  art  sense  work- 
ing without  a speck  of  artistic  material,  yet  it 
was  all  the  labor  of  a poor  little  child  only 
eight  years  old ! 


130 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


II 

July  30.  The  next  house  to  mine,  on  the 
south  side,  — a low,  dingy  structure,  — is  that 
of  a dyer.  You  can  always  tell  where  a Jap- 
anese dyer  is  by  the  long  pieces  of  silk  or 
cotton  stretched  between  bamboo  poles  before 
his  door  to  dry  in  the  sun,  — broad  bands  of 
rich  azure,  of  purple,  of  rose,  pale  blue,  pearl 
gray.  Yesterday  my  neighbor  coaxed  me  to 
pay  the  family  a visit ; and  after  having  been 
led  through  the  front  part  of  their  little  dwell- 
ing, I was  surprised  to  find  myself  looking 
from  a rear  veranda  at  a garden  worthy  of 
some  old  Kyoto  palace.  There  was  a dainty 
landscape  in  miniatm-e,  and  a pond  of  clear 
water  peopled  by  goldfish  having  wonderfully 
compound  tails. 

When  I had  enjoyed  this  spectacle  awhile, 
the  dyer  led  me  to  a small  room  fitted  up  as 
a Buddhist  chapel.  Though  everything  had 
had  to  be  made  on  a reduced  scale,  I did  not 
remember  to  have  seen  a more  artistic  display 
in  any  temple.  He  told  me  it  had  cost  him 
about  fifteen  hundred  yen.  I did  not  under- 
stand how  even  that  sum  could  have  sufficed. 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  131 


There  were  three  elaborately  carven  altars,  — 
a triple  blaze  of  gold  lacquer- work ; a niunber 
of  charming  Buddhist  images ; many  exquisite 
vessels ; an  ebony  reading-desk ; a mokugyo 
two  fine  bells,  — in  short,  all  the  parapherna- 
lia of  a temple  in  miniature.  My  host  had 
studied  at  a Buddhist  temple  in  his  youth, 
and  knew  the  sutras,  of  which  he  had  all  that 
are  used  by  the  Jodo  sect.  He  told  me  that 
he  could  celebrate  any  of  the  ordinary  ser- 
vices. Daily,  at  a fixed  hour,  the  whole  fam- 
ily assembled  in  the  chapel  for  prayers ; and 
he  generally  read  the  Kyo  for  them.  But 
on  extraordinary  occasions  a Buddhist  priest 
from  the  neighboring  temple  would  come  to 
officiate. 

He  told  me  a queer  story  about  robbers. 
Dyers  are  peculiarly  liable  to  be  visited  by 
robbers ; partly  by  reason  of  the  value  of  the 
silks  intrusted  to  them,  and  also  because  the 
business  is  known  to  be  lucrative.  One  even- 
ing the  family  were  robbed.  The  master 

^ A hollow  wooden  block  shaped  like  a dolphin’s  head. 
It  is  tapped  in  accompaniment  to  the  chanting  of  the 
Buddhist  sutras. 


132 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


was  out  of  the  city ; his  old  mother,  his  wife, 
and  a female  servant  were  the  only  persons  in 
the  house  at  the  time.  Three  men,  having 
their  faces  masked  and  carrying  long  swords, 
entered  the  door.  One  asked  the  servant 
whether  any  of  the  apprentices  were  still  in 
the  building ; and  she,  hoping  to  frighten  the 
invaders  away,  answered  that  the  young  men 
were  all  still  at  work.  But  the  robbers  were 
not  disturbed  by  this  assurance.  One  posted 
himself  at  the  entrance,  the  other  two  strode 
into  the  sleeping-apartment.  The  women 
started  up  in  alarm,  and  the  wife  asked, 
“ Why  do  you  wish  to  kill  us  ? ” He  who 
seemed  to  be  the  leader  answered,  “We  do 
not  wish  to  kill  you ; we  want  money  only. 
But  if  we  do  not  get  it,  then  it  will  be  this  ” — 
striking  his  sword  into  the  matting.  The  old 
mother  said,  “ Be  so  kind  as  not  to  frighten 
my  daughter-in-law,  and  I will  give  you  what- 
ever money  there  is  in  the  house.  But  you 
ought  to  know  there  cannot  be  much,  as  my 
son  has  gone  to  Kyoto.”  She  handed  them 
the  money-drawer  and  her  own  purse.  There 
were  just  twenty-seven  yen  and  eighty-four 
sen.  The  head  robber  counted  it,  and  said. 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  133 


quite  gently,  “ We  do  not  want  to  frighten 
you.  We  know  you  are  a very  devout  be- 
liever in  Buddhism,  and  we  think  you  would 
not  tell  a lie.  Is  this  all?  ” “ Yes,  it  is  all,” 

she  answered.  “ I am,  as  you  say,  a believer 
in  the  teaching  of  the  Buddha,  and  if  you 
come  to  rob  me  now,  I believe  it  is  only  be- 
cause I myself,  in  some  former  life,  once 
robbed  you.  This  is  my  punishment  for  that 
fault,  and  so,  instead  of  wishing  to  deceive 
you,  I feel  grateful  at  this  opportunity  to 
atone  for  the  wrong  which  I did  to  you  in  my 
previous  state  of  existence.”  The  robber 
laughed,  and  said,  “ You  are  a good  old 
woman,  and  we  believe  you.  If  you  were 
poor,  we  would  not  rob  you  at  all.  Now  we 
only  want  a couple  of  kimono  and  this,”  — lay- 
ing his  hand  on  a very  fine  silk  overdress. 
The  old  woman  replied,  “ AU  my  son’s  kimono 
I can  give  you,  but  I beg  you  mil  not  take 
that,  for  it  does  not  belong  to  my  son,  and 
was  confided  to  us  only  for  dyeing.  What  is 
ours  I can  give,  but  I cannot  give  what  be- 
longs to  another.”  “ That  is  quite  right,”  ap- 
proved the  robber,  “and  we  shall  not  take  it.” 

After  receiving  a few  robes,  the  robbers 


134 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


said  good-niglit,  very  politely,  but  ordered  tbe 
women  not  to  look  after  them.  The  old  ser- 
vant was  still  near  the  door.  As  the  chief 
robber  passed  her,  he  said,  “ You  told  us  a 
lie,  — so  take  that ! ” — and  struck  her  sense- 
less. None  of  the  robbers  were  ever  caught. 

m 

August  29.  When  a body  has  been 
burned,  according  to  the  funeral  rites  of  cer- 
tain Buddhist  sects,  search  is  made  among  the 
ashes  for  a little  bone  called  the  Hotoke-San, 
or  “ Lord  Buddha,”  popidarly  supposed  to  be 
a little  bone  of  the  throat.  What  bone  it 
really  is  I do  not  know,  never  having  had  a 
chance  to  examine  such  a relic. 

According  to  the  shape  of  this  little  bone 
when  found  after  the  burning,  the  future  con- 
dition of  the  dead  may  be  predicted.  Should 
the  next  state  to  which  the  soul  is  destined  be 
one  of  happiness,  the  bone  will  have  the  form 
of  a small  image  of  Buddha.  But  if  the  next 
birth  is  to  be  unhappy,  then  the  bone  will 
have  either  an  ugly  shape,  or  no  shape  at  aU. 

A little  boy,  the  son  of  a neighboring  tobac- 
conist, died  the  night  before  last,  and  to-day 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  135 


the  corpse  was  burned.  The  little  bone  left 
over  from  the  burning  was  discovered  to 
have  the  form  of  three  Buddhas,  — San-Tai, 
— which  may  have  afforded  some  spiritual 
consolation  to  the  bereaved  parents.^ 

IV 

September  13.  A letter  from  Matsue, 
Izumo,  tells  me  that  the  old  man  who  used 
to  supply  me  with  pipestems  is  dead.  (A 
Japanese  pipe,  you  must  know,  consists  of 
three  pieces,  usually,  — a metal  bowl  large 
enough  to  hold  a pea,  a metal  mouthpiece, 
and  a bamboo  stem  which  is  renewed  at  regu- 
lar intervals.)  He  used  to  stain  his  pipestems 
very  prettily : some  looked  like  porcupine 
quills,  and  some  like  cylinders  of  snakeskin. 
He  lived  in  a queer  narrow  little  street  at  the 
verge  of  the  city.  I know  the  street  because 
in  it  there  is  a famous  statue  of  Jizo  called 
Shiroko-Jizo,  — “ White-Child-Jizo,”  — which 

1 At  the  great  temple  of  Tennoji,  at  Osaka,  all  such 
bones  are  dropped  into  a vault ; and  according  to  the  sound 
each  makes  in  falling,  further  evidence  about  the  Gosho  is 
said  to  he  obtained.  After  a hundred  years  from  the  time 
of  beginning  this  curious  collection,  aU  these  bones  are  to  be 
ground  into  a kind  of  paste,  out  of  which  a colossal  statue 
of  Buddha  is  to  he  made. 


136 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


I once  went  to  see.  They  whiten  its  face, 
like  the  face  of  a dancing-girl,  for  some  reason 
whick  I have  never  been  able  to  find  out. 

The  old  man  had  a daughter,  0-Masu, 
about  whom  a story  is  told.  0-Masu  is  still 
alive.  She  has  been  a happy  wife  for  many 
years ; but  she  is  dumb.  Long  ago,  an  angry 
mob  sacked  and  destroyed  the  dwelling  and 
the  storehouses  of  a rice  speculator  in  the  city. 
His  money,  including  a quantity  of  gold  coin 
(Tcohari),  was  scattered  through  the  street. 
The  rioters  — rude,  honest  peasants  — did  not 
want  it : they  wished  to  destroy,  not  to  steal. 
But  0-Masu’s  father,  the  same  evening, 
picked  up  a koban  from  the  mud,  and  took  it 
home.  Later  on  a neighbor  denounced  him, 
and  secured  his  arrest.  The  judge  before 
whom  he  was  summoned  tried  to  obtain  cer- 
tain evidence  by  cross-questioning  0-Masu, 
then  a shy  girl  of  fifteen.  She  felt  that  if  she 
continued  to  answer  she  would  be  made,  in 
spite  of  herself,  to  give  testimony  unfavorable 
to  her  father ; that  she  was  in  the  presence  of 
a trained  inquisitor,  capable,  without  effort, 
of  forcing  her  to  acknowledge  everything  she 
knew.  She  ceased  to  speak,  and  a stream  of 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  137 


blood  gushed  from  her  mouth.  She  had 
silenced  herself  forever  by  simply  biting  off 
her  tongue.  Her  father  was  acquitted.  A 
merchant  who  admired  the  act  demanded  her 
in  marriage,  and  supported  her  father  in  his 
old  age. 

V 

October  10.  There  is  said  to  be  one  day 
— only  one  — in  the  life  of  a child  during 
which  it  can  remember  and  speak  of  its  former 
birth. 

On  the  very  day  that  it  becomes  exactly 
two  years  old,  the  child  is  taken  by  its  mother 
into  the  most  quiet  part  of  the  house,  and  is 
placed  in  a mi,  or  rice-winnowing  basket. 
The  child  sits  down  in  the  mi.  Then  the 
mother  says,  calling  the  child  by  name, 
“ Omae  no  zense  wa,  nande  attahane  ? — iute, 
gbranF  ^ Then  the  child  always  answers  in 
one  word.  For  some  mysterious  reason,  no 
more  lengthy  reply  is  ever  given.  Often  the 
answer  is  so  enigmatic  that  some  priest  or  for- 
tune-teller must  be  asked  to  interpret  it.  For 
instance,  yesterday,  the  little  son  of  a copper- 

1 “ Thy  previous  life  as  for,  — what  was  it  ? Houorably 
look  [or,  please  looh]  and  teU.” 


138 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


smith  living'  near  us  answered  only  “ Ume  ” to 
the  magical  question.  Now  ume  might  mean 
a plum-flower,  a plum,  or  a girl’s  name, — 
“ Flower-of-the-Plum.”  Could  it  mean  that 
the  boy  remembered  having  been  a girl?  Or 
that  he  had  been  a plum-tree  ? “ Souls  of 

men  do  not  enter  plum-trees,”  said  a neighbor. 
A fortune-teller  this  morning  declared,  on 
being  questioned  about  the  riddle,  that  the 
boy  had  probably  been  a scholar,  poet,  or 
statesman,  because  the  plum-tree  is  the  symbol 
of  Tenjin,  patron  of  scholars,  statesmen,  and 
men  of  letters. 


VI 

November  17.  An  astonishing  book  might 
be  written  about  those  things  in  Japanese  life 
which  no  foreigner  can  understand.  Such  a 
book  should  include  the  study  of  certain  rare 
but  terrible  results  of  anger. 

As  a national  rule,  the  Japanese  seldom 
allow  themselves  to  show  anger.  Even  among 
the  common  classes,  any  serious  menace  is  apt 
to  take  the  form  of  a smiling  assurance  that 
your  favor  shall  be  remembered,  and  that  its 
recipient  is  grateful.  (Do  not  suppose,  how- 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  139 


ever,  tliat  this  is  ironical,  in  our  sense  of  the 
word  : it  is  only  euphemistic,  — ugly  things  not 
being  called  by  their  real  names.)  But  this 
smiling  assurance  may  possibly  mean  death. 
AVhen  vengeance  comes,  it  comes  unexpect- 
edly. Neither  distance  nor  time,  within  the 
empire,  can  offer  any  obstacles  to  the  avenger 
who  can  walk  fifty  miles  a day,  whose  whole 
baggage  can  be  tied  up  in  a very  small  towel, 
and  whose  patience  is  almost  infinite.  He 
may  choose  a knife,  but  is  much  more  likely  to 
use  a sword,  — a Japanese  sword.  This,  in 
Japanese  hands,  is  the  deadliest  of  weapons ; 
and  the  killing  of  ten  or  twelve  persons  by 
one  angry  man  may  occupy  less  than  a min- 
ute. It  does  not  often  happen  that  the  mur- 
derer thinks  of  trying  to  escape.  Ancient 
custom  requires  that,  having  taken  another 
life,  he  should  take  his  own ; wherefore  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  police  would  be  to  dis- 
grace his  name.  He  has  made  his  prepara- 
tions beforehand,  written  his  letters,  arranged 
for  his  funeral,  perhaps  — as  in  one  appalling 
instance  last  year  — even  chiseled  his  own 
tombstone.  Having  fully  accomplished  his 
revenge,  he  kiUs  himself. 


140 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


There  has  just  occurred,  not  far  from  the 
city,  at  the  village  called  Sugikamimura,  one 
of  those  tragedies  which  are  difficult  to  under- 
stand. The  chief  actors  were,  Narumatsu 
Ichiro,  a young  shopkeeper  ; his  •Rufe,  0-Noto, 
twenty  years  of  age,  to  whom  he  had  been 
married  only  a year ; and  0-Noto’s  maternal 
uncle,  one  Sugimoto  Kasaku,  a man  of  violent 
temper,  who  had  once  been  in  prison.  The 
tragedy  was  in  four  acts. 

Act  I.  Scene ; Interior  of  puhlic  hath- 
house.  Sugimoto  Kasahu  in  the  hath.  En- 
ter Narumatsu  Ichiro,  who  strips,  gets  into 
the  smoking  water  without  noticing  his  rela- 
tive, and  cries  out,  — 

'■'"Aa!  as  if  one  should  be  in  Jigoku,  so 
hot  this  water  is  ! ” 

(The  word  “ Jigoku  ” signifies  the  Buddhist 
hell ; but,  in  common  parlance,  it  also  signi- 
fies a prison,  — this  time  an  unfortunate  coin- 
cidence.) 

Nasaku  (terribly  angry).  “A  raw  baby, 
you,  to  seek  a hard  quarrel ! What  do  you 
not  like  ? ” 

Ichiro  (surprised  and  alarmed,  but  rally- 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  141 


ing  against  tlie  tone  of  Kasaku).  “ Nay ! 
lYhat  ? Tkat  I said  need  not  by  you  be  ex- 
plained. Tbougb  I said  tbe  water  was  bot, 
your  belp  to  make  it  hotter  was  not  asked.” 

J^asaku  (now  dangerous).  “ Though  for 
my  own  fault,  not  once,  but  twice  in  tbe  bell 
of  prison  I had  been,  what  should  there  be 
wonderful  in  it  ? Either  an  idiot  child  or  a 
low  scoundrel  you  must  be  ! ” 

^Each  eyes  the  other  for  a spring,  hut 
each  hesitates,  although  things  no  Japanese 
should  suffer  himself  to  say  have  heen  said. 
They  are  too  evenly  matched,  the  old  and  the 
young.') 

KasaTiu  (growing  cooler  as  Icbird  becomes 
angrier) . “ A child,  a raw  child,  to  quarrel 

with  me!  What  should  a baby  do  with  a 
wife  ? Your  wife  is  my  blood,  mine,  — the 
blood  of  the  man  from  hell ! Give  her  back 
to  my  house.” 

Ichiro  (desperately,  now  fully  assured 
Kasaku  is  physically  the  better  man).  “ Re- 
turn my  wife?  You  say  to  return  her? 
Right  quickly  shall  she  be  returned,  at 
once ! ” 


142 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


So  far  everytliing  is  clear  enough.  Then 
Ichiro  hurries  home,  caresses  his  wife,  assures 
her  of  his  love,  tells  her  all,  and  sends  her,  not 
to  Kasaku’s  house,  but  to  that  of  her  brother. 
Two  days  later,  a little  after  dark,  0-Noto  is 
called  to  the  door  by  her  husband,  and  the 
two  disappear  in  the  night. 

Act  II.  Night  scene.  House  of  Kasahu 
closed : light  appears  through  chinks  of 
sliding  shutters.  Shadow  of  a woman 
approaches.  Sound  of  knocking.  Shutters 
slide  back. 

Wife  of  Nasaku  (recognizing  0-Noto). 

Aa!  aa  ! Joyful  it  is  to  see  you!  Deign 
to  enter,  and  some  honorable  tea  to  take.” 

0-Noto  (speaking  very  sweetly).  “ Thanks 
indeed.  But  where  is  Kasaku  San  ? ” 

IF^e  of  Kasaku.  “ To  the  other  village 
he  has  gone,  but  must  soon  return.  Deign  to 
come  in  and  wait  for  him.” 

0-Noto  (still  more  sweetly).  “Very  great 
thanks.  A little,  and  I come.  But  first  I 
must  tell  my  brother.” 

(^Bows,  and  slips  off  into  the  darkness., 
and  becomes  a shadow  again,  which  joins 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  143 

another  shadow.  The  two  shadows  remain 
motionless.') 

Act  III.  Scene : Banh  of  a river  at 
night,  fringed  hy  pines.  Silhouette  of  the 
house  of  JTasaku  far  away.  0-Noto  and 
Ichiro  under  the  trees,  Ichiro  with  a lantern. 
Both  have  white  towels  tightly  hound  round 
their  heads  ; their  robes  are  girded  well  up, 
and  their  sleeves  caught  bach  with  tasuhi 
cords,  to  leave  the  arms  free.  Bach  carries 
a long  sword. 

It  is  the  hour,  as  the  Japanese  most  expres- 
sively say,  “when  the  sound  of  the  river  is 
loudest.”  There  is  no  other  sound  but  a 
long  occasional  humming  of  wind  in  the  nee- 
dles of  the  pines ; for  it  is  late  autumn,  and 
the  frogs  are  silent.  The  two  shadows  do  not 
speak,  and  the  sound  of  the  river  grows  louder. 

Suddenly  there  is  the  noise  of  a plash  far 
off,  — somebody  crossing  the  shallow  stream  ; 
then  an  echo  of  wooden  sandals,  — irregular, 
staggering,  — the  footsteps  of  a drunkard, 
coming  nearer  and  nearer.  The  drunkard 
lifts  up  his  voice  : it  is  Kasaku’s  voice.  He 
sings,  — • 


144 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


“Suita  oTcata  ni  suirarete; 

Ya-ton-ton  ! ” ^ 

— a song  of  love  and  wine. 

Immediately  tlie  two  shadows  start  toward 
the  singer  at  a run,  — a noiseless  flitting,  for 
their  feet  are  shod  with  waraji.  Kasaku 
still  sings.  Suddenly  a loose  stone  turns 
under  him ; he  wrenches  his  anlde,  and  ut- 
ters a growl  of  anger.  A Imost  in  the  same  in- 
stant a lantern  is  held  close  to  his  face.  Per- 
haps for  thirty  seconds  it  remains  there.  No 
one  speaks.  The  yellow  light  shows  three 
strangely  inexpressive  masks  rather  than  vis- 
ages. Kasaku  sobers  at  once,  — recognizing 
the  faces,  remembering  the  incident  of  the 
bathhouse,  and  seeing  the  swords.  But  he  is 
not  afraid,  and  presently  bursts  into  a mock- 
ing laugh. 

“ He ! he  ! The  Ichiro  pair  ! And  so  you 
take  me,  too,  for  a baby?  What  are  you 
doing  with  such  things  in  your  hands  ? Let 
me  show  you  how  to  use  them.” 

^ The  meaning’  is,  “ Give  to  the  beloved  one  a little  more 
[wine].”  The  “Ya-ton-ton"  is  only  a burden,  without 
exact  meaning,  like  our  own  “ With  a hey  ! and  a ho!  ” 
etc. 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  145 


But  Ichiro,  who  has  dropped  the  lantern, 
suddenly  delivers,  with  the  full  swing  of  both 
hands,  a sword-slash  that  nearly  severs  Kasa- 
ku’s  right  arm  from  the  shoulder ; and  as 
the  victim  staggers,  the  sword  of  the  woman 
cleaves  through  his  left  shoulder.  He  falls 
with  one  fearful  cry,  “ Hitogoroshi  I ” which 
means  “ murder.”  But  he  does  not  cry  again. 
For  ten  whole  minutes  the  swords  are  busy 
with  him.  The  lantern,  still  glowing,  lights 
the  ghastliness.  Two  belated  pedestrians 
approach,  hear,  see,  drop  their  wooden  sandals 
from  their  feet,  and  flee  back  into  the  dark- 
ness without  a word.  Ichiro  and  0-Noto  sit 
down  by  the  lantern  to  take  breath,  for  the 
work  was  hard. 

The  son  of  Kasaku,  a boy  of  fourteen, 
comes  running  to  find  his  father.  He  has 
heard  the  song,  then  the  cry  ; but  he  has  not 
yet  learned  fear.  The  two  suffer  him  to  ap- 
proach. As  he  nears  0-Noto,  the  woman 
seizes  him,  flings  him  down,  twists  his  slender 
arms  under  her  knees,  and  clutches  the  sword. 
But  Ichiro,  still  panting,  cries,  “ No ! no ! 
Not  the  boy ! He  did  us  no  wrong  ! ” 0-Noto 
releases  him.  He  is  too  stupefied  to  move. 


146 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


She  slaps  his  face  terribly,  crying,  “ Go ! ” 
He  runs,  — not  daring  to  shriek. 

Ichiro  and  0-Noto  leave  the  chopped  mass, 
walk  to  the  house  of  Kasaku,  and  call  loudly. 
There  is  no  reply ; — only  the  pathetic,  crouch- 
ing silence  of  women  and  children  waiting 
death.  But  they  are  bidden  not  to  fear. 
Then  Ichiro  cries  : — 

“ Honorable  funeral  prepare  ! Kasaku  by 
my  hand  is  now  dead  ! ” 

“ And  by  mine  ! ” shrills  0-Noto. 

Then  the  footsteps  recede. 

Act  IV.  Scene : Interior  of  Ichiro's 
house.  Three  persons  hneeling  in  the  guest- 
room : Ichiro,  his  wife,  and  an  aged  woman, 
who  is  weeping. 

Ichiro.  “ And  now,  mother,  to  leave  you 
alone  in  this  world,  though  you  have  no  other 
son,  is  indeed  an  evil  thing.  I can  only  pray 
your  forgiveness.  But  my  uncle  wiU  always 
care  for  you,  and  to  his  house  you  must  go  at 
once,  since  it  is  time  we  two  should  die.  No 
common,  vulgar  death  shall  we  have,  but  an 
elegant,  splendid  death,  — Rippana  I And 
you  must  not  see  it.  Now  go.” 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  147 


She  passes  away,  with  a wail.  The  doors 
are  solidly  barred  behind  her.  All  is  ready. 

0-Noto  thrusts  the  point  of  the  sword  into 
her  throat.  But  she  still  struggles.  With 
a last  kind  word  Ichiro  ends  her  pain  by  a 
sti'oke  that  severs  the  head. 

And  then? 

Then  he  takes  his  writing-box,  prepares  the 
inkstone,  grinds  some  ink,  chooses  a good 
brush,  and,  on  carefully  selected  paper,  com- 
poses five  poems,  of  which  this  is  the  last : — 

“ Meido  yori 
Yu  dempo  ga 
Aru  naraba, 

Hayaku  an  chaku 
Moshi  okuran.”  ^ 

Then  he  cuts  his  own  throat  perfectly  well. 

Now,  it  was  clearly  shown,  during  the 
official  investigation  of  these  facts,  that  Ichiro 
and  his  wife  had  been  universally  liked,  and 
had  been  from  their  childhood  noted  for 
amiability. 

1 The  meaning  is  about  as  follows  : “ If  from  the  Meido 
it  be  possible  to  send  letters  or  telegrams,  I shall  write  and 
forward  news  of  our  speedy  safe  arrival  there.” 


148 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


The  scientific  prohlem  of  the  origin  of  the 
Japanese  has  never  yet  been  solved.  But 
sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  those  who 
argue  in  favor  of  a partly  .Malay  origin  have 
’^some  psychological  evidence  in  their  favor. 
Under  the  submissive  sweetness  of  the  gen- 
tlest J apanese  woman  — a sweetness  of  which 
the  Occidental  can  scarcely  foi’m  any  idea  — 
there  exist  possibilities  of  hardness  absolutely 
inconceivable  without  ocular  evidence.  A 
thousand  times  she  can  forgive,  can  sacrifice 
herself  in  a thousand  ways  unutterably  touch- 
ing ; but  let  one  particular  soul-nerve  be 
stung,  and  fire  shall  forgive  sooner  than  she. 
Then  there  may  suddenly  appear  in  that  frail- 
seeming  woman  an  incredible  courage,  an 
appalling,  measured,  tireless  purpose  of  hon- 
est vengeance.  Under  all  the  amazing  self- 
control  and  patience  of  the  man  there  exists 
an  adamantine  something  very  dangerous  to 
reach.  Touch  it  wantonly,  and  there  can  be 
no  pardon.  But  resentment  is  seldom  likely 
to  be  excited  by  mere  hazard.  Motives  are 
keenly  judged.  An  error  can  be  forgiven ; 
deliberate  malice  never. 

In  the  house  of  any  rich  family  the  guest  is 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  149 


likely  to  be  sbown  some  of  the  heirlooms. 
Among  these  are  almost  sure  to  be  certain 
articles  belonging  to  those  elaborate  tea  cere- 
monies peculiar  to  Japan.  A pretty  little 
box,  perhaps,  will  be  set  before  you.  Open- 
ing it,  you  see  only  a beautiful  silk  bag,  closed 
with  a silk  running-cord  decked  with  tiny 
tassels.  Very  soft  and  choice  the  silk  is,  and 
elaborately  figured.  What  marvel  can  be  hid- 
den under  such  a covering?  You  open  the 
bag,  and  see  within  another  bag,  of  a different 
quality  of  silk,  but  very  fine.  Open  that,  and 
lo ! a third,  which  contains  a fourth,  which 
contains  a fifth,  which  contains  a sixth,  which 
contains  a seventh  bag,  which  contains  the 
strangest,  roughest,  hardest  vessel  of  Chinese 
clay  that  you  ever  beheld.  Yet  it  is  not  only 
curious  but  precious : it  may  be  more  than  a 
thousand  years  old. 

Even  thus  have  centuries  of  the  highest 
social  culture  wrapped  the  Japanese  character 
about  with  many  priceless  soft  coverings  of 
courtesy,  of  delicacy,  of  patience,  of  sweetness, 
of  moral  sentiment.  But  underneath  these 
charming  multiple  coverings  there  remains 
the  primitive  clay,  hard  as  iron ; — kneaded 


150 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


perliaps  with  all  the  mettle  of  the  Mongol,  — 
all  the  dangerous  suppleness  of  the  Malay. 

VII 

December  28.  Beyond  the  high  fence 
inclosing  my  garden  in  the  rear  rise  the 
thatched  roofs  of  some  very  small  houses  occu- 
pied by  families  of  the  poorest  class.  From 
one  of  these  little  dwellings  there  continually 
issues  a sound  of  groaning,  — the  deep  groan- 
ing of  a man  in  pain.  I have  heard  it  for 
more  than  a week,  both  night  and  day,  but 
latterly  the  sounds  have  been  growing  longer 
and  louder,  as  if  every  breath  were  an  agony. 
“ Somebody  there  is  very  sick,”  says  Manye- 
mon,  my  old  interpreter,  with  an  expression 
of  extreme  sympathy. 

The  sounds  have  begun  to  make  me  ner- 
vous. I reply,  rather  brutally,  “ I think  it 
would  be  better  for  all  concerned  if  that 
somebody  were  dead.” 

Manyemon  makes  three  times  a quick,  sud- 
den gestiu’e  with  both  hands,  as  if  to  throw 
off  the  influence  of  my  wdcked  words,  mutters 
a little  Buddhist  prayer,  and  leaves  me  with  a 
look  of  reproach.  Then,  conscience-stricken. 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  151 

I send  a servant  to  inqure  if  the  sick  person 
has  a doctor,  and  whether  any  aid  can  be 
given.  Presently  the  servant  returns  with  the 
information  that  a doctor  is  regularly  attend- 
ing the  sufferer,  and  that  nothing  else  can  be 
done. 

I notice,  however,  that,  in  spite  of  his  cob- 
webby gestures,  Manyemon’s  patient  nerves 
have  also  become  affected  by  those  sounds. 
He  has  even  confessed  that  he  wants  to  stay 
in  the  little  front  room,  near  the  street,  so  as 
to  be  away  from  them  as  far  as  possible.  I 
can  neither  write  nor  read.  My  study  being 
in  the  extreme  rear,  the  groaning  is  there 
almost  as  audible  as  if  the  sick  man  were  in 
the  room  itself.  There  is  always  in  such  ut- 
terances of  suffering  a certain  ghastly  timbre 
by  which  the  intensity  of  the  suffering  can 
be  estimated ; and  I keep  asking  myself.  How 
can  it  be  possible  for  the  human  being  mak- 
ing those  sounds  by  which  I am  tortured,  to 
endure  much  longer  ? 

It  is  a positive  relief,  later  in  the  morning, 
to  hear  the  moaning  drowned  by  the  beating 
of  a little  Buddhist  drum  in  the  sick  man’s 
room,  and  the  chanting  of  the  Namu  myo  ho 


152 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


renge  Tcyd  by  a multitude  of  voices.  Evi- 
dently thei’e  is  a gathering  of  priests  and  rela- 
tives in  the  house.  “ Somebody  is  going  to 
die,”  Manyemon  says.  And  he  also  repeats 
the  holy  words  of  praise  to  the  Lotus  of  the 
Good  Law. 

The  chanting  and  the  tapping  of  the  drum 
continue  for  several  hours.  As  they  cease, 
the  groaning  is  heard  again.  Every  breath  a 
groan  ! Toward  evening  it  grows  worse  — ■ 
horrible.  Then  it  suddenly  stoj)s.  There  is 
a dead  silence  of  minutes.  And  then  we  hear 
a passionate  burst  of  weej)ing,  — the  weeping 
of  a woman,  — and  voices  calling  a name. 
“ Ah  ! somebody  is  dead  ! ” JVIanyemon  says. 

We  hold  council.  Manyemon  has  found 
out  that  the  people  are  miserably  poor  ; and  I, 
because  my  conscience  smites  me,  propose  to 
send  them  the  amount  of  the  funeral  expenses, 
a very  small  sum.  Manyemon  thinks  I wish 
to  do  this  out  of  pure  benevolence,  and  says 
pretty  things.  We  send  the  servant  with  a 
kind  message,  and  instructions  to  learn  if  pos- 
sible the  history  of  the  dead  man.  I cannot 
help  suspecting  some  sort  of  tragedy;  and  a 
Japanese  tragedy  is  generally  interesting. 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  153 


December  29.  As  I had  surmised,  the 
story  of  the  dead  man  was  worth  learning. 
The  family  consisted  of  four,  — the  father 
and  mother,  both  very  old  and  feeble,  and  two 
sons.  It  was  the  eldest  son,  a man  of  thirty- 
four,  who  had  died.  He  had  been  sick  for 
seven  years.  The  younger  brother,  a kuru- 
maya,  had  been  the  sole  support  of  the  whole 
family.  He  had  no  vehicle  of  his  own,  but 
hired  one,  paying  five  sen  a day  for  the  use  of 
it.  Though  strong  and  a swift  runner,  he 
could  earn  little : there  is  in  these  days  too 
much  competition  for  the  business  to  be  profit- 
able. It  taxed  all  his  powers  to  support  his 
parents  and  his  ailing  brother ; nor  could  he 
have  done  it  without  unfailing  self-denial. 
He  never  indulged  himself  even  to  the  extent 
of  a cup  of  sake  ; he  remained  unmarried  ; he 
lived  only  for  his  filial  and  fraternal  duty. 

This  was  the  story  of  the  dead  brother: 
When  about  twenty  years  of  age,  and  follow- 
ing the  occupation  of  a fish-seller,  he  had 
fallen  in  love  with  a pretty  servant  at  an 
inn.  The  girl  returned  his  affection.  They 
pledged  themselves  to  each  other.  But  diffi- 
culties arose  in  the  way  of  their  marriage. 


154 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


The  girl  was  pretty  enough  to  have  attracted 
the  attention  of  a man  of  some  means,  who 
demanded  her  hand  in  the  customaxy  way. 
She  disliked  him  ; but  the  conditions  he  was 
able  to  offer  decided  her  parents  in  his  favor. 
Despairing  of  imion,  the  two  lovers  resolved 
to  pei'form  joshi.  Somewhei’e  or  other  they 
met  at  night,  renewed  their  pledge  in  wine, 
and  bade  farewell  to  the  world.  The  young 
man  then  killed  his  sweetheart  with  one  blow 
of  a sword,  and  immediately  afterward  cut  his 
own  throat  with  the  same  weapon.  But  peo- 
ple rushed  into  the  room  before  he  had  ex- 
pired, took  away  the  sword,  sent  for  the 
police,  and  summoned  a military  surgeon 
from  the  garrison.  The  would-be  suicide  was 
removed  to  the  hospital,  skillfully  nursed  back 
to  health,  and  after  some  months  of  convales- 
cence was  put  on  trial  for  murder. 

What  sentence  was  jxassed  I could  not  fxxUy 
learn.  In  those  days,  Japanese  judges  used  a 
good  deal  of  personal  discretion  when  dealing 
with  emotional  ci’ime ; and  their  exei’cise  of 
pity  had  not  yet  been  restricted  by  codes 
framed  upon  Western  models.  Perhaps  in 
this  case  they  thought  that  to  have  survived 


BITS  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  155 


a joshl  was  in  itself  a severe  punishment. 
Public  opinion  is  less  merciful,  in  such  in- 
stances, than  law.  After  a term  of  imprison- 
ment the  miserable  man  was  allowed  to  return 
to  his  family,  but  was  placed  under  perpetual 
police  surveillance.  The  people  shrank  from 
him.  He  made  the  mistake  of  living  on. 
Only  his  parents  and  brother  remained  to 
him.  And  soon  he  became  a victim  of  un- 
speakable physical  suffering ; yet  he  clung  to 
life. 

The  old  wound  in  his  throat,  although 
treated  at  the  time  as  skillfully  as  circum- 
stances permitted,  began  to  cause  terrible 
pain.  After  its  apparent  healing,  some  slow 
cancerous  growth  commenced  to  spread  from 
it,  reaching  into  the  breathing-passages  above 
and  below  where  the  sword-blade  had  passed. 
The  surgeon’s  knife,  the  torture  of  the  cau- 
tery, could  only  delay  the  end.  But  the  man 
lingered  through  seven  years  of  continually 
increasing  agony.  There  are  dark  beliefs 
about  the  results  of  betraying  the  dead,  — of 
breaking  the  mutual  promise  to  travel  to- 
gether to  the  Meido.  Men  said  that  the  hand 
of  the  murdered  girl  always  reopened  the 


156 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


wound,  — undid  by  nigbt  all  that  the  surgeon 
could  accomplish  by  day.  For  at  night  the 
pain  invariably  increased,  becoming  most  ter- 
rible at  the  precise  hour  of  the  attempted 
shinju  ! 

Meanwhile,  through  abstemiousness  and 
extraordinary  self-denial,  the  family  found 
means  to  pay  for  medicines,  for  attendance, 
and  for  more  nourishing  food  than  they  them- 
selves ever  indulged  in.  They  prolonged  by 
all  possible  means  the  life  that  was  their 
shame,  their  poverty,  their  burden.  And  now 
that  death  has  taken  away  that  burden,  they 
weep ! 

Perhaps  all  of  us  learn  to  love  that  which 
we  train  ourselves  to  make  sacrifices  for, 
whatever  pain  it  may  cause.  Indeed,  the 
question  might  be  asked  whether  we  do  not 
love  most  that  which  causes  us  most  pain. 


VI 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 
I 

On  the  ridge  of  the  Hill  behind  the  Govern- 
ment  College,  — above  a succession  of  tiny 
farm  fields  ascending  the  slope  by  terraces,  — 
there  is  an  ancient  village  cemetery.  It  is  no 
longer  used : the  people  of  Kurogamimura 
now  bury  their  dead  in  a more  secluded  spot ; 
and  I think  their  fields  are  beginning  already 
to  encroach  upon  the  limits  of  the  old  grave- 
yard. 

Having  an  idle  hour  to  pass  between  two 
classes,  I resolve  to  pay  the  ridge  a visit. 
Harmless  thin  black  snakes  wiggle  across  the 
way  as  I climb ; and  immense  grasshoppers, 
exactly  the  color  of  parched  leaves,  whirr 
away  from  my  shadow.  The  little  field  path 
vanishes  altogether  under  coarse  grass  before 
reaching  the  broken  steps  at  the  cemetery 
gate ; and  in  the  cemetery  itself  there  is  no 


158 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


path  at  all  — only  weeds  and  stones.  But 
there  is  a fine  view  from  the  ridge : the  vast 
green  Plain  of  Higo,  and  beyond  it  bright 
blue  hills  in  a half-ring  against  the  horizon 
light,  and  even  beyond  them  the  cone  of  Aso 
smoking  forever. 

Below  me,  as  in  a bird’s-eye  view,  appears 
the  college,  like  a miniature  modern  town, 
with  its  long  ranges  of  many  windowed  build- 
ings, all  of  the  year  1887.  They  represent 
the  purely  utilitarian  architecture  of  the  nine- 
teenth century : they  might  be  situated  equally 
well  in  Kent  or  in  Auckland  or  in  New 
Hampshire  without  appearing  in  the  least  out 
of  tone  with  the  age.  But  the  terraced  fields 
above  and  the  figures  toiling  in  them  might 
be  of  the  fifth  century.  The  language  cut 
upon  the  haka, whereon  I lean  is  transliterated 
Sanscrit.  And  there  is  a Buddha  beside  me, 
sitting  upon  his  lotus  of  stone  just  as  he  sat  in 
the  days  of  Kato  Kiyomasa.  His  meditative 
gaze  slants  down  between  his  half-closed  eye- 
lids upon  the  Government  College  and  its  tu- 
multuous life ; and  he  smiles  the  smile  of  one 
who  has  received  an  injury  not  to  be  resented. 
This  is  not  the  expression  wrought  by  the 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 


159 


sculptor : moss  and  scurf  have  distorted  it.  I 
also  observe  that  his  hands  are  broken.  I am 
sorry,  and  try  to  scrape  the  moss  away  from 
the  little  symbolic  protuberance  on  his  fore- 
head, remembering  the  ancient  text  of  the 
“ Lotus  of  the  Good  Law  : ” — 

“ There  issued  a ray  of  light  from  the  circle 
of  hair  hetween  the  hrows  of  the  Lord.  It 
extended  over  eighteen  hundred  thousand 
Buddha  fields,  so  that  all  those  Buddha 
fields  appeared  wholly  illuminated  hy  its 
radiance,  down  to  the  great  hell  Avihi,  and 
up  to  the  limit  of  existence.  And  all  the  be- 
ings in  each  of  the  Six  States  of  existence 
became  visible,  — all  without  exception.  Even 
the  Lord  Buddhas  in  those  Buddha  fields 
who  had  reached  final  Nirvana,  all  became 
visible.'’’ 

n 

The  sun  is  high  behind  me ; the  landscape 
before  me  as  in  an  old  Japanese  picture-book. 
In  old  Japanese  color-prints  there  are,  as  a 
rule,  no  shadows.  And  the  Plain  of  Higo,  all 
shadowless,  broadens  greenly  to  the  horizon, 
w'here  the  blue  spectres  of  the  peaks  seem  to 
float  in  the  enormous  glow.  But  the  vast 


160 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


level  presents  no  uniform  hue  : it  is  banded 
and  seamed  by  all  tones  of  green,  Intercrossed 
as  if  laid  on  by  long  strokes  of  a brush.  In 
this  again  the  vision  resembles  some  scene 
from  a Japanese  picture-book. 

Open  such  a book  for  the  first  time,  and 
you  receive  a peculiarly  startling  impression, 
a sensation  of  surprise,  which  causes  you  to 
think  : “ How  strangely,  how  curiously,  these 

people  feel  and  see  Nature ! ” The  wonder  of 
it  grows  upon  you,  and  you  ask  : “ Can  it  be 

possible  their  senses  are  so  utterly  different 
'^from  ours?”  Yes,  it  is  quite  possible;  but 
look  a little  more.  You  do  so,  and  there  de- 
fines a third  and  ultimate  idea,  confirming  the 
previous  two.  You  feel  the  picture  is  more 
true  to  Nature  than  any  Western  painting  of 
the  same  scene  would  be,  — that  it  produces 
sensations  of  Nature  no  Western  picture  could 
give.  And  indeed  there  are  contained  within 
it  whole  ranges  of  discoveries  for  you  to  make. 
Before  making  them,  however,  you  will  ask 
yourself  another  riddle,  somewhat  thus : “ All 
this  is  magically  vivid ; the  inexplicable  color 
is  Nature’s  own.  But  why  does  the  thing 
seem  so  ghostly  f ” 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 


161 


Well,  chiefly  because  of  the  absence  of 
shadows.  What  prevents  you  from  missing 
them  at  once  is  the  astounding  skill  in  the 
recognition  and  use  of  color-values.  The 
scene,  however,  is  not  depicted  as  if  illumined 
from  one  side,  but  as  if  throughout  suffused 
with  light.  Now  there  are  really  moments 
when  landscapes  do  wear  this  aspect ; but  our 
artists  rarely  study  them. 

Be  it  nevertheless  observed  that  the  old 
Japanese  loved  shadows  made  by  the  moon, 
and  painted  the  same,  because  these  were 
weird  and  did  not  interfere  with  color.  But 
they  had  no  admiration  for  shadows  that 
blacken  and  break  the  charm  of  the  world 
under  the  sun.  When  their  noon-day  land- 
scapes are  flecked  by  shadows  at  all,  ’t  is  by 
very  thin  ones  only,  — mere  deepenings  of 
tone,  like  those  fugitive  half-glooms  which 
run  before  a summer  cloud.  And  the  inner 
as  well  as  the  outer  world  was  luminous  for 
them.  Psychologically  also  they  saw  life 
without  shadows. 

Then  the  West  burst  into  their  Buddhist 
peace,  and  saw  their  art,  and  bought  it  up  till 
an  Imperial  law  was  issued  to  preserve  the 


162  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

best  of  wbat  was  left.  And  wlien  there  was 
nothing  more  to  be  bought,  and  it  seemed 
possible  that  fresh  creation  might  reduce  the 
market  price  of  what  had  been  bought  al- 
ready, then  the  West  said:  “Oh,  come  now! 
you  must  n’t  go  on  drawing  and  seeing  things 
that  way,  you  know ! It  is  n’t  Art ! You 
must  really  learn  to  see  shadows,  you  know,  — 
and  pay  me  to  teach  you.” 

So  Japan  paid  to  learn  how  to  see  shadows 
in  Nature,  in  life,  and  in  thought.  And  the 
West  taught  her  that  the  sole  business  of  the 
divine  sun  was  the  making  of  the  cheaper 
kind  of  shadows.  And  the  West  taught  her 
that  the  higher-priced  shadows  were  the  sole 
product  of  Western  civilization,  and  bade  her 
admire  and  adopt.  Then  Japan  wondered 
at  the  shadows  of  machinery  and  chimneys 
and  telegraph-poles ; and  at  the  shadows  of 
mines  and  of  factories,  and  the  shadows  in  the 
hearts  of  those  who  worked  there ; and  at  the 
shadows  of  houses  twenty  stories  high,  and  of 
hunsfer  beg’^ine:  under  them ; and  shadows  of 
enormous  charities  that  multiplied  poverty; 
and  shadows  of  social  reforms  that  multiplied 
vice ; and  shadows  of  shams  and  hypocrisies 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 


163 


and  swallow-tail  coats ; and  the  shadow  of  a 
foreign  God,  said  to  have  created  mankind 
for  the  piu’pose  of  an  auto-da-fe.  Whereat 
Japan  became  rather  serious,  and  refused  to 
study  any  more  silhouettes.  Fortunately  for 
the  world,  she  returned  to  her  first  matchless 
art ; and,  fortunately  for  herself,  returned  to 
her  own  beautiful  faith.  But  some  of  the 
shadows  still  clung  to  her  life  ; and  she  cannot 
possibly  get  rid  of  them.  Never  again  can 
the  world  seem  to  her  quite  so  beautiful  as  it 
did  before. 

ni 

Just  beyond  the  cemetery,  in  a tiny  patch 
of  hedged-in  land,  a farmer  and  his  ox  are 
plowing  the  black  soil  with  a plow  of  the 
Period  of  the  Gods ; and  the  wife  helps  the 
work  with  a hoe  more  ancient  than  even  the 
Empire  of  Japan.  All  the  three  are  toiling 
with  a strange  earnestness,  as  though  goaded 
without  mercy  by  the  knowledge  that  labor  is 
the  price  of  life. 

That  man  I have  often  seen  before  in  the 
colored  prints  of  another  century.  I have 
seen  him  in  kakemono  of  much  more  ancient 
date.  I have  seen  him  on  painted  screens  of 


164 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


still  greater  antiquity.  Exactly  the  samel 
Other  fashions  beyond  counting  have  passed : 
the  peasant’s  straw  hat,  straw  coat,  and  san- 
dals of  straw  remain.  He  himself  is  older, 
incomparably  older,  than  his  attire.  The 
earth  he  tills  has  indeed  swallowed  him  up  a 
thousand  times  a thousand  times ; but  each 
time  it  has  given  back  to  him  his  life  with 
force  renewed.  And  with  this  perpetual  re- 
newal he  is  content : he  asks  no  more.  The 
mountains  change  their  shapes ; the  rivers 
shift  their  courses ; the  stars  change  their 
places  in  the  sky:  he  changes  never.  Yet, 
though  unchanging,  is  he  a maker  of  change. 
Out  of  the  sum  of  his  toil  are  wrought  the 
ships  of  iron,  the  roads  of  steel,  the  palaces  of 
stone ; his  are  the  hands  that  pay  for  the 
universities  and  the  new  learning,  for  the 
telegraphs  and  the  electric  lights  and  the  re- 
peating-rifles, for  the  machinery  of  science 
and  the  machinery  of  commerce  and  the  ma- 
chinery of  war.  He  is  the  giver  of  all ; he  is 
given  in  return  — the  right  to  labor  forever. 
Wherefore  he  plows  the  centuries  under,  to 
plant  new  lives  of  men.  And  he  will  thus 
toil  on  till  the  work  of  the  world  shall  have 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA  165 

been  done,  — till  the  time  of  the  end  of 
man. 

And  what  will  he  that  end  ? Will  it  be  iU 
or  well  ? Or  must  it  for  all  of  us  remain  a 
mystery  insolvable  ? 

Out  of  the  wisdom  of  the  West  is  answer 
given : “ Man’s  evolution  is  a progress  into 
perfection  and  beatitude.  The  goal  of  evolu- 
tion is  Equilibration.  Evils  wiU  vanish,  one 
by  one,  till  only  that  which  is  good  survive.  / 
Then  shall  knowledge  obtain  its  uttermost  ex- 
pansion ; then  shall  mind  put  forth  its  most 
wondrous  blossoms ; then  shall  cease  all  strug- 
gle and  all  bitterness  of  soul,  and  all  the 
wrongs  and  all  the  follies  of  life.  Men  shall 
become  as  gods,  in  all  save  immortality ; and 
each  existence  shall  be  prolonged  through 
centuries ; and  all  the  joys  of  life  shall  be 
made  common  in  many  a paradise  terrestrial, 
fairer  than  poet’s  dream.  And  there  shall  be 
neither  rulers  nor  ruled,  neither  governments 
nor  laws  ; for  the  order  of  all  things  shall  be 
resolved  by  love.” 

But  thereafter  ? 

“ Thereafter  ? Oh,  thereafter  by  reason  of 
the  persistence  of  Force  and  other  cosmic 


166 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


laws,  dissolution  must  come : all  integration 
must  yield  to  disintegration.  This  is  the  tes- 
timony of  science.” 

Then  all  that  may  have  been  won,  must  be 
lost ; all  that  shall  have  been  wrought,  utterly 
undone.  Then  all  that  shall  have  been  over- 
come, must  overcome ; all  that  may  have  been 
suffered  for  good,  must  be  suffered  again  for 
no  purpose  interpretable.  Even  as  out  of  the 
Unknown  was  born  the  immeasurable  pain  of 
the  Past,  so  into  the  Unknown  must  expire 
the  immeasurable  pain  of  the  Future.  What, 
therefore,  the  worth  of  our  evolution?  what, 
therefore,  the  meaning  of  life  — of  this  phan- 
tom-flash between  darknesses  ? Is  your  evolu- 
tion only  a passing  out  of  absolute  mystery 
into  universal  death  ? In  the  hour  when  that 
man  in  the  hat  of  straw  shall  have  crumbled 
back,  for  the  last  mundane  time,  into  the  clay 
be  tills,  of  what  avail  shall  have  been  all  the 
labor  of  a million  years  ? 

“Nay!”  answers  the  West.  “There  is 
not  any  universal  death  in  such  a sense. 
Death  signifies  only  change.  Thereafter  will 
appear  another  universal  life.  All  that 
assures  us  of  dissolution,  not  less  certainly 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 


167 


assures  us  of  renewal.  The  Cosmos,  resolved 
into  a nebula,  must  reconclense  to  form 
another  swarm  of  worlds.  And  then,  per- 
haps, your  peasant  may  reappear  with  his 
patient  ox,  to  till  some  soil  illumined  by  pur- 
ple or  violet  suns.”  Yes,  but  after  that 
resurrection  ? “ Why,  then  another  evolution, 
another  equilibration,  another  dissolution. 
This  is  the  teaching  of  science.  This  is  the 
infinite  law.” 

But  then  that  resurrected  life,  can  it  be 
ever  new?  Will  it  not  rather  be  infinitely 
old?  For  so  surely  as  that  which  is  must 
eternally  be,  so  must  that  which  will  be  have 
eternally  been.  As  there  can  be  no  end,  so 
there  can  have  been  no  beginning ; and  even 
Time  is  an  illusion,  and  there  is  nothing  new 
beneath  a hundred  million  suns.  Death  is 
not  death,  not  a rest,  not  an  end  of  pain,  but 
the  most  appalling  of  mockeries.  And  out  of 
this  infinite  whirl  of  pain  you  can  teU  us  no 
way  of  escape.  Have  you  then  made  us  any 
wiser  than  that  straw-sandaled  peasant  is  ? 
He  knows  all  this.  He  learned,  while  yet  a 
child,  from  the  priests  who  taught  him  to 
write  in  the  Buddhist  temple  school,  some- 


168 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


thing  of  his  own  innumerable  births,  and  of 
the  apparition  and  disparition  of  universes, 
and  of  the  unity  of  life.  That  which  you 
have  mathematically  discovered  was  known 
to  the  East  long  before  the  coming  of  the 
Buddha.  How  known,  who  may  say  ? Per- 
haps there  have  been  memories  that  survived 
the  wrecks  of  universes.  But  be  that  as  it 
may,  your  annunciation  is  enormously  old : 
your  methods  only  are  new,  and  serve  merely 
to  confirm  ancient  theories  of  the  Cosmos,  and 
to  recomplicate  the  complications  of  the  ever- 
lasting Riddle. 

Unto  which  the  West  makes  answer : — 
“ Not  so ! I have  discerned  the  rhythm  of 
that  eternal  action  whereby  worlds  are  shapen 
or  dissipated ; I have  divined  the  Laws  of 
Pain  evolving  all  sentient  existence,  the  Laws 
of  Pain  evolving  thought ; I have  discovered 
and  proclaimed  the  means  by  which  sorrow 
may  be  lessened  ; I have  taught  the  necessity 
of  effort,  and  the  highest  duty  of  life.  And 
surely  the  knowledge  of  the  duty  of  life  is  the 
knowledge  of  largest  worth  to  man.” 

Perhaps.  But  the  knowledge  of  the  neces- 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 


169 


sity  and  of  the  duty,  as  you  have  proclaimed 
them,  is  a knowledge  very,  very  much  older 
than  you.  Probably  that  peasant  knew  it 
_ fifty  thousand  years  ago,  on  this  planet. 
Possibly  also  upon  other  long  - vanished 
planets,  in  cycles  forgotten  by  the  gods.  If 
this  be  the  Omega  of  Western  wisdom,  then 
is  he  of  the  straw  sandals  our  equal  in  know- 
ledge, even  though  he  be  classed  by  the 
Buddha  among  the  ignorant  ones  only,  — they 
who  “ people  the  cemeteries  again  and  again.” 

“ He  cannot  know,”  makes  answer  Science ; 
“ at  the  very  most  he  only  believes,  or  thinks 
that  he  believes.  Not  even  his  wisest  priests 
can  prove.  I alone  have  proven ; I alone 
have  given  proof  absolute.  And  I have 
proved  for  ethical  renovation,  though  accused 
of  proving  for  destruction.  I have  defined 
the  uttermost  impassable  limit  of  human 
knowledge ; but  I have  also  established  for 
all  time  the  immovable  foundations  of  that 
highest  doubt  which  is  wholesome,  since  it 
is  the  substance  of  hope.  I have  shown 
that  even  the  least  of  human  thoughts,  of 
human  acts,  may  have  perpetual  record, — 
making  self-registration  through  tremulosities 


170 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


invisible  that  pass  to  the  eternities.  And  I 
have  fixed  the  basis  of  a new  morality  upon 
everlasting  tnith,  even  though  I may  have 
left  of  ancient  creeds  only  their  empty  shell.” 

Creeds  of  the  W est  — yes ! But  not  of  the 
creed  of  this  older  East.  Not  yet  have  you 
even  measured  it.  What  matter  that  this 
peasant  cannot  prove,  since  thus  much  of  his 
belief  is  that  which  you  have  proved  for  all 
of  us  ? And  he  holds  still  another  belief  that 
reaches  beyond  yours.  He  too  has  been 
taught  that  acts  and  thoughts  outlive  the  lives 
of  men.  But  he  has  been  taught  more  than 
this.  He  has  been  taught  that  the  thoughts 
and  acts  of  each  being,  projected  beyond  the 
individual  existence,  shape  other  lives  unborn  ; 
he  has  been  taught  to  control  his  most  secret 
wishes,  because  of  their  immeasurable  inher- 
ent potentialities.  And  he  has  been  taught 
all  this  in  words  as  plain  and  thoughts  as 
simply  woven  as  the  straw  of  his  rain-coat. 
What  if  he  cannot  prove  his  premises  ? you 
have  proved  them,  for  him  and  for  the  world. 
He  has  only  a theory  of  the  future,  indeed ; 
but  you  have  furnished  irrefutable  evidence 
that  it  is  not  founded  upon  dreams.  And 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 


171 


since  all  yoiu*  past  labors  have  only  served,  to 
confirm  a few  of  the  beliefs  stored  up  in  his 
simple  mind,  is  it  any  foUy  to  presume  that 
your  future  labors  also  may  serve  to  prove 
the  truth  of  other  beliefs  of  his,  which  you 
have  not  yet  taken  the  trouble  to  examine  ? 

“ For  instance,  that  earthquakes  are  caused 
by  a big  fish  ? ” 

Do  not  sneer!  Our  Western  notions  about 
such  things  were  just  as  crude  only  a few 
generations  back.  No ! I mean  the  ancient 
teaching  that  acts  and  thoughts  are  .not 
merely  the  incidents  of  life,  but  its  creators. 
Even  as  it  has  been  written,  ‘•‘•All  that  we 
are  is  the  result  of  what  we  hare  thought : it 
is  founded  on  our  thoughts ; it  is  made  up 
of  our  thoughts.” 


IV 

And  there  comes  to  me  the  memory  of  a 
queer  story. 

The  common  faith  of  the  common  people, 
that  the  misfortunes  of  the  present  are  re- 
sults of  the  follies  committed  in  a former 
state  of  existence,  and  that  the  errors  of  this 
life  will  influence  the  future  birth,  is  curiously 


172 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


reinforced  by  various  superstitions  probably 
niucb  older  than  Buddhism,  but  not  at  vari- 
ance with  its  faultless  doctrine  of  conduct. 
Among  these,  perhaps  the  most  remarkable  is 
the  belief  that  even  our  most  secret  thoughts 
of  evil  may  have  ghostly  consequences  upon 
other  people' s lives. 

The  house  now  occupied  by  one  of  my 
friends  used  to  be  haunted.  You  could  never 
imagine  it  to  have  been  haunted,  because  it  is 
unusually  luminous,  extremely  pretty,  and 
comparatively  new.  It  has  no  dark  nooks  or 
corners.  It  is  surrounded  with  a large  bright 
garden,  — a Kyushu  landscape  garden  with- 
out any  big  trees  for  ghosts  to  hide  behind. 
Yet  haunted  it  was,  and  in  broad  day. 

First  you  must  learn  that  in  this  Orient 
there  are  two  sorts  of  haunters  : the  Shi-ryo 
and  the  Iki-ryo.  The  Shi-ryo  are  merely  the 
ghosts  of  the  dead;  and  here,  as  in  most 
lands,  they  follow  their  ancient  habit  of  com- 
ing at  night  only.  But  the  Iki-ryo,  which  are 
the  ghosts  of  the  living,  may  come  at  all 
hours  ; and  they  are  much  more  to  be  feared, 
because  they  have  power  to  kiU. 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA  173 

Now  the  house  of  which  I speak  was 
haimtecl  hj  an  Iki-ryo. 

The  man  who  built  it  was  an  official, 
wealthy  and  esteemed.  He  designed  it  as  a 
home  for  his  old  age  ; and  when  it  was  fin- 
ished he  filled  it  with  beautiful  things,  and 
hung  tinkling  wind  bells  along  its  eaves. 
Artists  of  skill  painted  the  naked  precious 
wood  of  its  panels  with  blossoming  sprays  of 
cherry  and  plum  tree,  and  figures  of  gold-eyed 
falcons  poised  on  crests  of  pine,  and  slim 
fawns  feeding  under  maple  shadows,  and 
wild  ducks  in  snow,  and  herons  flying,  and 
iris  flowers  blooming,  and  long-armed  monkeys 
clutching  at  the  face  of  the  moon  in  water : 
all  the  symbols  of  the  seasons  and  of  good 
foi’tune. 

Fortunate  the  owner  was;  yet  he  knew 
one  sorrow  — he  had  no  heir.  Therefore, 
with  his  wife’s  consent,  and  according  to  an- 
tique custom,  he  took  a strange  woman  into 
his  home  that  she  might  give  him  a child,  — a 
young  woman  from  the  country,  to  whom 
large  promises  were  made.  When  she  had 
borne  him  a son,  she  was  sent  away ; and  a 
nurse  was  hired  for  the  boy,  that  he  might 


174 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


not  regret  his  real  mother.  All  this  had 
been  agreed  to  beforehand ; and  there  were 
ancient  usages  to  justify  it.  But  all  the 
promises  made  to  the  mother  of  the  boy  had 
not  been  fulfilled  when  she  was  sent  away. 

And  after  a little  time  the  rich  man  fell 
sick ; and  he  grew  worse  thereafter  day  by 
day ; and  his  people  said  there  was  an  Iki-ryo 
in  the  house.  Skilled  physicians  did  all  they 
could  for  him ; but  he  only  became  weaker 
and  weaker ; and  the  physicians  at  last  con- 
fessed they  had  no  more  hope.  And  the  wife 
made  ofEerings  at  the  Ujigami,  and  prayed  to 
the  Gods  ; but  the  Gods  gave  answer : “ He 
must  die  imless  he  obtain  forgiveness  from 
one  whom  he  wronged,  and  undo  the  wrong 
by  making  just  amend.  For  there  is  an 
Iki-ryo  in  your  house.” 

Then  the  sick  man  remembered,  and  was 
conscience-smitten,  and  sent  out  servants  to 
bring:  the  woman  back  to  his  home.  But  she 
was  gone,  — somewhere  lost  among  the  forty 
millions  of  the  Empire.  And  the  sickness 
ever  grew  worse  ; and  search  was  made  in 
vain ; and  the  weeks  passed.  At  last  there 
came  to  the  gate  a peasant  who  said  that  he 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 


175 


knew  tke  place  to  which  the  woman  had  gone, 
and  that  he  would  journey  to  find  her  if  sup- 
plied with  means  of  travel.  But  the  sick 
man,  hearing,  cried  out : “ No ! she  would 
never  forgive  me  in  her  heart,  because  she 
could  not.  It  is  too  late ! ” And  he  died. 

After  which  the  widow  and  the  relatives 
and  the  little  boy  abandoned  the  new  house ; 
and  strangers  entered  thereinto. 

Curiously  enough,  the  people  spoke  harshly 
concerning  the  mother  of  the  boy  — holding 
her  to  blame  for  the  harmting. 

I thought  it  very  strange  at  first,  not  be- 
cause I had  formed  any  positive  judgment  as 
to  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  the  case.  Indeed 
I could  not  form  such  a judgment ; for  I could 
not  learn  the  full  details  of  the  story.  I 
thought  the  criticism  of  the  people  very 
strange,  notwithstanding. 

Why  ? Simply  because  there  is  nothing 
voluntary  about  the  sending  of  an  Iki-ryo. 
It  is  not  witchcraft  at  all.  The  Iki-ryo  goes 
forth  without  the  knowledge  of  the  person 
whose  emanation  it  is.  (There  is  a kind  of 
witchcraft  which  is  believed  to  send  Things,  — • 


176 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


but  not  Iki-ryo.)  You  will  now  understand 
why  I thought  the  condemnation  of  the  young 
woman  very  strange. 

But  you  could  scarcely  guess  the  solution  of 
the  problem.  It  is  a religious  one,  involving 
conceiitions  totally  unknown  to  the  West. 
She  from  whom  the  Iki-ryo  proceeded  was 
never  blamed  by  the  people  as  a witch.  They 
never  suggested  that  it  might  have  been 
created  with  her  knowledge.  They  even  sym- 
pathized with  what  they  deemed  to  be  her  just 
plaint.  They  blamed  her  only  for  having 
been  too  angry,  — for  not  sufficiently  control- 
ling her  unspoken  resentment,  — because  she 
should  have  known  that  anger,  secretly  in- 
duly ed,  can  hare  ghostly  consequences. 

I ask  nobody  to  take  for  granted  the  possi- 
bility of  the  Iki-ryo,  except  as  a strong  form 
of  conscience.  But  as  an  influence  upon  con- 
duct, the  belief  certainly  has  value.  Besides, 
it  is  suggestive.  Who  is  really  able  to  assure 
us  that  secret  evil  desires,  pent-up  resentments, 
masked  hates,  do  not  exert  any  force  outside 
of  the  will  that  conceives  and  nurses  them? 
May  there  not  be  a deeper  meaning  than 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA  177 

Western  ethics  recognize  in  those  words 
of  the  Buddha,  — “ Hatred  ceases  not  hy 
hatred  at  any  time  ; hatred  ceases  hy  love : 
this  is  an  old  rule  ” ? It  was  very  old  then, 
even  in  his  day.  In  ours  it  has  been  said, 
“ Whensoever  a wrong  is  done  you,  and  you 
do  not  resent  it,  then  so  much  evil  dies  in  the 
world.”  But  does  it  ? Are  we  quite  sure 
that  not  to  resent  it  is  enough?  Can  the  mo- 
tive tendency  set  loose  in  the  mind  by  the 
sense  of  a wrong  be  nullified  simply  by  non- 
action on  the  part  of  the  wronged  ? Can  any 
force  die  ? The  forces  we  know  may  be  trans- 
formed only.  So  much  also  may  be  true  of 
the  forces  we  do  not  know ; and  of  these  are 
Life,  Sensation,  WiU,  — all  that  makes  up 
the  infinite  mystery  called  “ I.” 

V 

“The  duty  of  Science,”  answers  Science, 
“ is  to  systematize  human  experience,  not  to 
theorize  about  ghosts.  And  the  judgment  of 
the  time,  even  in  Japan,  sustains  this  position 
taken  by  Science.  What  is  now  being  taught 
below  there,  — my  doctrines,  or  the  doctrines 
of  the  Man  in  the  Straw  Sandals  ? ” 


178  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

Then  the  Stone  Buddha  and  I look  down 
upon  the  college  together ; and  as  we  gaze,  the 
smile  of  the  Buddha  — perhaps  because  of  a 
change  in  the  light  — seems  to  me  to  have 
changed  its  expression,  to  have  become  an 
ironical  smile.  Nevertheless  he  is  contempla- 
ting the  fortress  of  a more  than  formidable 
enemy.  In  all  that  teaching  of  four  hundred 
youths  by  thirty-three  teachers,  there  is  no 
teaching  of  faith,  but  only  teaching  of  fact,  — 
only  teaching  of  the  definite  results  of  the  sys- 
tematization of  human  experience.  And  I am 
absolutely  certain  that  if  I were  to  question, 
concerning  the  things  of  the  Buddha,  any  of 
those  thirty-three  instructors  (saving  one  dear 
old  man  of  seventy,  the  Professor  of  Chinese), 
I should  receive  no  reply.  For  they  belong 
unto  the  new  generation,  holding  that  such 
topics  are  fit  for  the  consideration  of  Men- 
in-Straw-Rain-coats  only,  and  that  in  this 
twenty-sixth  year  of  Meiji,  the  scholar  should 
occupy  himseK  only  with  the  results  of  the 
systematization  of  human  experience.  Yet 
the  systematization  of  human  experience  in 
no  wise  enlightens  us  as  to  the  Whence,  the 
Whither,  or,  worst  of  all ! — the  Why. 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 


179 


“ The  Laws  of  Existence  which  proceed 
from  a cause,  — the  cause  of  these  hath  the 
Buddha  explained,  as  also  the  destruction  of 
the  same.  Even  of  siich  truths  is  the  great 
Sramana  the  teacher^ 

And  I ask  myself,  Must  the  teaching  of 
Science  in  this  land  efface  at  last  the  memory 
of  the  teaching  of  the  Buddha  ? 

“ As  for  that,”  makes  answer  Science,  “ the 
test  of  the  right  of  a faith  to  live  must  be 
sought  in  its  power  to  accept  and  to  utilize 
my  revelations.  Science  neither  affirms  what 
it  cannot  prove,  nor  denies  that  which  it  can- 
not rationally  disprove.  Theorizing  about  the 
Unknowable,  it  recognizes  and  pities  as  a 
necessity  of  the  human  mind.  You  and  the 
Man-in-the-Straw-Rain-coat  may  harmlessly 
continue  to  theorize  for  such  time  as  your  the- 
ories advance  in  lines  parallel  with  my  facts, 
but  no  longer.” 

And  seeking  inspiration  from  the  deep  irony 
of  Buddha’s  smile,  I theorize  in  parallel  lines. 


180 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


VI 

The  whole  tendency  of  modern  knowledge, 
the  whole  tendency  of  scientific  teaching,  is 
toward  the  ultimate  conviction  that  the  Un- 
knowable, even  as  the  Brahma  of  ancient  In- 
dian thought,  is  inaccessible  to  prayer.  Not  a 
few  of  us  can  feel  that  Western  Faith  must 
finally  pass  away  forever,  leaving  us  to  our 
own  resources  when  our  mental  manhood  shall 
have  been  attained,  even  as  the  fondest  of 
mothers  must  leave  her  children  at  last.  In 
that  far  day  her  work  will  all  have  been  done ; 
she  wiU  have  fully  developed  our  recognition 
of  certain  eternal  spiritual  laws ; she  will  have 
fully  ripened  our  profounder  human  sympa- 
thies ; she  will  have  fully  prepared  us  by  her 
parables  and  fairy  tales,  by  her  gentler  false- 
hoods, for  the  terrible  truth  of  existence ; — 
prepared  us  for  the  knowledge  that  there  is  no 
divine  love  save  the  love  of  man  for  man ; that 
we  have  no  All-Father,  no  Saviour,  no  angel 
guardians-;  that  we  have  no  possible  refuge 
but  in  ourselves. 

Yet  even  in  that  strange  day  we  shall  only 
have  stumbled  to  the  threshold  of  the  revela- 


THE  STONE  BUDDHA 


181 


tion  given  by  the  Buddha  so  many  ages  ago  : 
“ Be  ye  lamps  unto  yourselves  ; he  ye  a refuge 
unto  yourselves.  Betake  yourselves  to  no 
other  refuge.  The  Buddhas  are  only  teach- 
ers. Hold  ye  fast  to  the  truth  as  to  a lamp. 
Hold  fast  as  a refuge  to  the  truth.  Look  not 
for  refuge  to  any  heside  yourselves." 

Does  the  utterance  shock?  Yet  the  pros- 
pect of  such  a void  awakening  from  our  long 
fair  dream  of  celestial  aid  and  celestial  love 
would  never  be  the  darkest  prospect  possible 
for  man.  There  is  a darker,  also  fore- 
shadowed by  Eastern  thought.  Science  may 
hold  in  reserve  for  us  discoveries  infinitely 
more  appalling  than  the  realization  of  Rich- 
ter’s dream,  — the  dream  of  the  dead  children 
seeking  vainly  their  father  Jesus.  In  the 
negation  of  the  materialist  even,  there  was  a 
faith  of  consolation  — self-assurance  of  individ- 
ual cessation,  of  oblivion  eternal.  But  for  the 
existing  thinker  there  is  no  such  faith.  It 
may  remain  for  us  to  learn,  after  having  van- 
quished all  difficulties  possible  to  meet  upon 
this  tiny  sphere,  that  there  await  us  obstacles 
to  overcome  beyond  it,  — obstacles  vaster  than 
any  system  of  worlds,  — obstacles  weightier 


182  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

than  the  whole  inconceivable  Cosmos  with  its 
centuries  of  millions  of  systems  ; that  our  task 
is  only  beginning;  and  that  there  will  never 
be  given  to  us  even  the  ghost  of  any  help,  save 
the  help  of  unutterable  and  unthinkable  Time. 
We  may  have  to  learn  that  the  infinite  wliirl 
of  death  and  birth,  out  of  which  we  cannot 
escape,  is  of  our  own  creation,  of  our  own  seek- 
ing ; — that  the  forces  integrating  worlds  are 
the  errors  of  the  Past ; — that  the  eternal 
sorrow  is  but  the  eternal  hunger  of  insatiable 
desire;  — and  that  the  burnt-out  sims  are  re- 
kindled only  by  the  inextinguishable  passions 
of  vanished  lives. 


JIUJUTSU 


Man  at  his  birth  is  supple  and  weak ; at  his  death,  firm  and  strong. 
So  is  it  with  all  things.  , . . Firmness  and  strength  are  the  concomi- 
tants of  death ; softness  and  weakness,  the  concomitants  of  life. 
Hence  he  who  relies  on  his  own  strength  shall  not  conquer. 

Tao-Te-Kino. 

I 

There  is  one  building  in  tbe  grounds  of 
the  Government  College  quite  different  in 
structure  from  the  other  edifices.  Except 
that  it  is  furnished  with  horizontally  sliding 
glass  windows  instead  of  paper  ones,  it  might 
be  called  a purely  Japanese  building.  It  is 
long,  broad,  and  of  one  story ; and  it  contains 
but  a single  huge  room,  of  which  the  elevated 
floor  is  thickly  cushioned  with  one  hundred 
mats.  It  has  a Japanese  name,  too,  — Zui- 
hokwan,  — signifying  “ The  Hall  of  Our  Holy 
Coimtry;”  and  the  Chinese  characters  which 
form  that  name  were  painted  upon  the  small 
tablet  above  its  entrance  by  the  hand  of  a 


184 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


Prince  of  the  Imperial  blood.  Within  there 
is  no  furniture  ; nothing  but  another  tablet 
and  two  pictures  hanging  upon  the  wall. 
One  of  the  pictures  represents  the  famous 
“ White-Tiger  Band  '*  of  seventeen  brave 
boys  v/ho  voluntarily  sought  death  for  loy- 
alty’s sake  in  the  civil  war.  The  other  is  a 
portrait  in  oil  of  the  aged  and  much  beloved 
Professor  of  Chinese,  Akizuki  of  Aidzu,  a 
noted  warrior  in  his  youth,  when  it  required 
much  more  to  make  a soldier  and  a gentle- 
man than  it  does  to-day.  And  the  tablet 
bears  Chinese  characters  written  by  the  hand 
of  Count  Katsu,  which  signify:  “Profound 
knowledge  is  the  best  of  possessions.” 

But  what  is  the  knowledge  taught  in  this 
huge  unfurnished  apartment  ? It  is  some- 
thing called  jiujutsu.  And  what  is  jiujutsu? 

Here  I must  premise  that  I know  practi- 
cally nothing  of  jiujutsu.  One  must  begin  to 
study  it  in  early  youth,  and  must  continue  the 
study  a very  long  time  in  order  to  learn  it 
even  tolerably  well.  To  become  an  expert  re- 
quires seven  years  of  constant  practice,  even 
presupposing  natural  aptitudes  of  an  uncom- 
mon order.  I can  give  no  detailed  account 


JIUJUTSU  185 

of  jiujutsu,  but  merely  venture  some  general 
remarks  about  its  principle. 

Jiujutsu  is  tbe  old  samurai  art  of  fighting 
without  weapons.  To  the  uninitiated  it  looks 
like  wrestling.  Should  you  happen  to  enter 
the  Zuihokwan  while  jiujutsu  is  being  prac- 
ticed, you  would  see  a crowd  of  students 
watching  ten  or  twelve  lithe  young  comrades, 
barefooted  and  barelimbed,  throwing  each 
other  about  on  the  matting.  The  dead  silence 
might  seem  to  you  very  strange.  No  word 
is  spoken,  no  sign  of  approbation  or  of  amuse- 
ment is  given,  no  face  even  smiles.  Absolute 
impassiveness  is  rigidly  exacted  by  the  rules 
of  the  school  of  jiujutsu.  But  probably  only 
this  impassibility  of  all,  this  hush  of  numbers, 
would  impress  you  as  remarkable. 

A professional  wrestler  would  observe  more. 
He  would  see  that  those  young  men  are  very 
cautious  about  putting  forth  their  strength, 
and  that  the  grips,  holds,  and  flings  are  both 
peculiar  and  risky.  In  spite  of  the  care  ex- 
ercised, he  would  judge  the  whole  perform- 
ance to  be  dangerous  play,  and  would  be 
tempted,  perhaps,  to  advise  the  adoption  of 
Western  “scientific”  rules. 


186 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


The  real  thing,  however,  — not  the  play,  — ■ 
is  much  more  dangerous  than  a W estern 
wrestler  could  guess  at  sight.  The  teacher 
there,  slender  and  light  as  he  seems,  could 
probably  disable  an  ordinary  wrestler  in  two 
minutes.  Jiujutsu  is  not  an  art  of  disjilay  at 
all : it  is  not  a training  for  that  sort  of  skill 
exhibited  to  public  audiences ; it  is  an  art  of 
self-defense  in  the  most  exact  sense  of  the 
term ; it  is  an  art  of  war.  The  master  of  that 
art  is  able,  in  one  moment,  to  put  an  un- 
trained antagonist  completely  Tiors  da  comhat. 
By  some  terrible  legerdemain  he  suddenly  dis- 
locates a shoulder,  unhinges  a joint,  bursts  a 
tendon,  or  snaps  a bone,  — without  any  appar- 
ent effort.  He  is  much  more  than  an  athlete : 
he  is  an  anatomist.  And  he  knows  also 
touches  that  kill  — - as  by  lightning.  But  this 
fatal  knowledge  he  is  under  oath  never  to 
communicate  except  under  such  conditions  as 
would  render  its  abuse  almost  impossible. 
Tradition  exacts  that  it  be  given  only  to  men 
of  perfect  self-command  and  of  unimpeachable 
moral  character. 

The  fact,  however,  to  which  I want  to  call 
attention  is  that  the  master  of  jiujutsu  never 


JIUJUTSU 


187 


relies  upon  his  own  strength.  He  scarcely 
uses  his  own  strength  in  the  greatest  emer- 
gency. Then  what  does  he  use  ? Simply  the 
strength  of  his  antagonist.  The  force  of  the 
enemy  is  the  only  means  by  which  that  enemy 
is  overcome.  The  art  of  jiujutsu  teaches  you 
to  rely  for  victory  solely  upon  the  strength  of 
your  opponent*;  and  the  greater  his  strength, 
the  worse  for  him  and  the  better  for  you.  I 
remember  that  I was  not  a little  astonished 
when  one  of  the  greatest  teachers  of  jiujutsu^ 
told  me  that  he  found  it  extremely  difficult  to 
teach  a certain  very  strong  pupil,  whom  I had 
innocently  imagined  to  be  the  best  in  the 
class.  On  asking  why,  I was  answered : “ Be- 
cause he  relies  upon  his  enormous  muscular 
strength,  and  uses  it.”  The  very  name  “ jiu- 
jutsu ” means  to  conquer  hy  yielding. 

I fear  I cannot  explain  at  all ; I can  only 
suggest.  Every  one  knows  what  a “ counter” 
in  boxing  means.  I cannot  use  it  for  an 
exact  simile,  because  the  boxer  who  counters 
opposes  his  whole  force  to  the  impetus  of  the 

1 Kano  Jigoro.  Mr.  Kano  contributed  some  years  ago  to 
the  Transactions  of  ike  Asiatic  Society  a very  interesting 
paper  on  the  history  of  Jiujutsu. 


I 


188  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

other ; while  a jiujutsu  expert  does  precisely 
the  contrary.  Still  there  remains  this  resem- 
blance between  a counter  in  boxing  and  a 
yielding  in  jiujutsu,  — that  the  suffering  is  in 
both  cases  due  to  the  uncontrollable  forward 
impetus  of  the  man  who  receives  it.  I may 
venture  then  to  say,  loosely,  that  in  jiujutsu 
there  is  a sort  of  counter  for  every  twist, 
wrench,  pull,  push,  or  bend : only,  the  jiuju- 
tsu expert  does  not  oppose  such  movements  at 
all.  No : he  yields  to  them.  But  he  does 
much  more  than  yield  to  them.  He  aids 
them  with  a wicked  sleight  that  causes  the 
assailant  to  put  out  his  own  shoulder,  to  frac- 
ture his  own  arm,  or,  in  a desperate  case,  even 
to  break  his  own  neck  or  back. 

n 

With  even  this  vaguest  of  explanations, 
you  will  already  have  been  able  to  perceive 
that  the  real  wonder  of  jiujutsu  is  not  in  the 
highest  possible  skill  of  its  best  professor,  but 
/ in  the  uniquely  Oriental  idea  which  the  whole 
art  expresses.  What  Western  brain  could 
have  elaborated  this  strange  teaching,  — 
never  to  oppose  force  to  force,  but  only  to 


JIUJUTSU 


189 


direct  and  utilize  the  power  of  attach ; to 
overthrow  the  enemy  solely  by  his  own 
strength,  — to  vanquish  him  solely  hy  his  own 
effort  ? Surely  none  ! The  Occidental  mind 
appears  to  work  in  straight  lines  ; the  Ori- 
ental, in  wonderful  curves  and  circles.  Yet 
how  fine  a symbolism  of  Intelligence  as  a 
means  to  foil  brute  force  ! Much  more  than  a 
science  of  defense  is  this  jiujutsu : it  is  a phi-  J 
losophical  system  ; it  is  an  economical  system  ; 
it  is  an  ethical  system  (indeed,  I had  forgot- 
ten to  say  that  a very  large  part  of  jiujutsu- 
training is  purely  moral)  ; and  it  is,  above  all, 
the  expression  of  a racial  genius  as  yet  but 
faintly  perceived  by  those  Powers  who  dream 
of  further  aggrandizement  in  the  East. 

Twenty-five  years  ago,  — and  even  more 
recently,- — foreigners  might  have  predicted, 
with  every  appearance  of  reason,  that  Japan 
would  adopt  not  only  the  dress,  but  the  man- 
ners of  the  Occident;  not  only  our  means 
of  rapid  transit  and  communication,  but  also 
our  principles  of  architecture ; not  only  our 
industries  and  our  applied  science,  but  like- 
wise our  metaphysics  and  our  dogmas.  Some 


190 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


really  believed  that  the  country  would  soon 
be  thrown  open  to  foreign  settlement;  that 
W estern  capital  would  be  tempted  by  extraor- 
dinary privileges  to  aid  in  the  development  of 
various  resources ; and  even  that  the  nation 
would  eventually  proclaim,  through  Imperial 
Edict,  its  sudden  conversion  to  what  we  call 
Christianity.  But  such  beliefs  were  due  to 
an  unavoidable  but  absolute  imorance  of  the 

O 

character  of  the  race,  — of  its  deeper  capaci- 
ties, of  its  foresight,  of  its  immemorial  spirit 
of  independence.  That  Japan  might  only  be 
practicing  jiujutsu,  nobody  supposed  for  a 
moment:  indeed  at  that  time  'nobody  in  the 
West  had  ever  heard  of  jiujutsu. 

And,  nevertheless,  jiujutsu  it  all  was. 
Japan  adopted  a military  system  founded 
upon  the  best  experience  of  France  and  Ger- 
many, with  the  result  that  she  can  call  into 
the  field  a disciplined  force  of  250,000  men, 
supported  by  a formidable  artillery.  She 
created  a strong  navy,  comprising  some  of  the 
finest  cruisers  in  the  world  ; — modeling  her 
naval  system  upon  the  best  English  and 
French  teaching.  She  made  herself  dock- 
yards under  French  direction,  and  built  or 


JIUJUTSU 


191 


bought  steamers  to  carry  her  products  to 
Korea,  China,  Manilla,  Mexico,  India,  and  the 
tropics  of  the  Pacific.  She  constructed,  both 
for  military  and  commercial  purposes,  nearly 
two  thousand  miles  of  railroad.  With  Ameri- 
can and  English  help  she  established  the 
cheapest  and  perhaps  the  most  efficient  tele- 
graph and  postal  service  in  existence.  She 
built  lighthouses  to  such  excellent  purpose 
that  her  coast  is  said  to  be  the  best  lighted  in 
either  hemisphere ; and  she  put  into  operation 
a signal  service  not  inferior  to  that  of  the 
United  States.  Erom  America  she  obtained 
also  a telephone  system,  and  the  best  methods 
of  electric  lighting.  She  modeled  her  public- 
school  system  upon  a thorough  study  of  the 
best  results  obtained  in  Germany,  France,  and 
America,  but  regulated  it  so  as  to  harmo- 
nize perfectly  with  her  own  institutions.  She 
founded  a police  system  upon  a French  model, 
but  shaped  it  to  absolute  conformity  with 
her  own  particular  social  requirements.  At 
first  she  imported  machinery  for  her  mines, 
her  mills,  her  gun-factories,  her  railways,  and 
hired  numbers  of  foreign  experts  : she  is  now 
dismissing  all  her  teachers.  But  what  she 


192 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


has  done  and  is  doing  would  require  volumes 
even  to  mention.  Suffice  to  say,  in  conclu- 
sion, that  she  has  selected  and  adopted  the 
best  of  everything  represented  by  our  indus- 
tries, by  our  applied  sciences,  by  our  econom- 
ical, financial,  and  legal  experience ; availing 
herself  in  every  case  of  the  highest  results 
only,  and  invariably  shaping  her  acquisitions 
to*  meet  her  own  needs. 

Now  in  all  this  she  has  adopted  nothing  for 
a merely  imitative  reason.  On  the  contrary, 
she  has  approved  and  taken  only  what  can 
help  her  to  increase  her  strength.  She  has 
made  herself  able  to  dispense  with  nearly  all 
foreign  technical  instruction ; and  she  has 
kept  firmly  in  her  own  hands,  by  the  shrewd- 
est legislation,  all  of  her  own  resources.  But 
she  has  not  adopted  Western  dress.  Western 
habits  of  life,  Western  architecture,  or  West- 
ern religion  ; since  the  introduction  of  any  of 
these,  especially  the  last,  would  have  dimin- 
ished instead  of  augmenting  her  force.  De- 
spite her  railroad  and  steamship  lines,  her 
telegraphs  and  telephones,  her  postal  service 
and  her  express  companies,  her  steel  artillery 
and  magazine-rifles,  her  universities  and  tech- 


JIUJUTSU 


193 


nieal  schools,  she  remains  just  as  Oriental 
to-day  as  she  was  a thousand  years  ago.  She 
has  been  able  to  remain  herself,  and  to  profit 
to  the  utmost  possible  limit  by  the  strength  of 
the  enemy.  She  has  been,  and  still  is,  defend- 
ing herself  by  the  most  admirable  system  of 
intellectual  self-defense  ever  heard  of,  — by  a 
marvelous  national  jiujutsu. 

ni 

Before  me  lies  an  album  more  than  thirty 
years  old.  It  is  filled  with  photographs  taken 
at  the  time  when  Japan  was  entering  upon 
her  experiments  with  foreign  dress  and  with 
foreign  institutions.  All  are  photographs  of 
samurai  or  daimyo  ; and  many  possess  histori- 
cal value  as  refiections  of  the  earliest  effects 
of  foreign  infiuence  upon  native  fashions. 

Naturally  the  military  class  were  the  ear- 
liest subjects  of  the  new  infiuence  ; and  they 
seem  to  have  attempted  several  curious  com- 
promises between  the  Western  and  the  East- 
ern costume.  More  than  a dozen  photographs 
represent  feudal  leaders  surrounded  by  their 
retainers,  — all  in  a peculiar  garb  of  their 
own  composition.  They  have  frock  coats, 


192 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


has  done  and  is  doing  would  require  volumes 
even  to  mention.  Suffice  to  say,  in  conclu- 
sion, that  she  has  selected  and  adopted  the 
best  of  everything  represented  by  our  indus- 
tries, by  our  applied  sciences,  by  our  econom- 
ical, financial,  and  legal  experience ; availing 
herself  in  every  case  of  the  highest  results 
only,  and  invariably  shaping  her  acquisitions 
to*  meet  her  own  needs. 

Now  in  all  this  she  has  adopted  nothing  for 
a merely  imitative  reason.  On  the  contrary, 
she  has  approved  and  taken  only  what  can 
help  her  to  increase  her  strength.  She  has 
made  herself  able  to  dispense  with  nearly  all 
foreign  technical  instruction ; and  she  has 
kept  firmly  in  her  own  hands,  by  the  shrewd- 
est legislation,  all  of  her  own  resources.  But 
she  has  not  adopted  Western  dress.  Western 
habits  of  life.  Western  architecture,  or  West- 
ern religion  ; since  the  introduction  of  any  of 
these,  especially  the  last,  would  have  dimin- 
ished instead  of  augmenting  her  force.  De- 
spite her  railroad  and  steamship  lines,  her 
telegraphs  and  telephones,  her  postal  service 
and  her  express  companies,  her  steel  artillery 
and  magazine-rifles,  her  universities  and  tech- 


JIUJUTSU 


193 


nical  schools,  she  remains  just  as  Oriental 
to-day  as  she  was  a thousand  years  ago.  She 
has  been  able  to  remain  herself,  and  to  profit 
to  the  utmost  possible  limit  by  the  strength  of 
the  enemy.  She  has  been,  and  still  is,  defend- 
ing herself  by  the  most  admirable  system  of 
intellectual  self-defense  ever  heard  of,  — by  a 
marvelous  national  jiujutsu. 

ni 

Before  me  lies  an  album  more  than  thirty 
years  old.  It  is  filled  with  photographs  taken 
at  the  time  when  Japan  was  entering  upon 
her  experiments  with  foreign  dress  and  with 
foreign  institutions.  All  are  photographs  of 
samurai  or  daimyo  ; and  many  possess  histori- 
cal value  as  refiections  of  the  earliest  effects 
of  foreign  influence  upon  native  fashions. 

Naturally  the  military  class  were  the  ear- 
liest subjects  of  the  new  influence  ; and  they 
seem  to  have  attempted  several  curious  com- 
promises between  the  Western  and  the  East- 
ern costume.  More  than  a dozen  photographs 
represent  feudal  leaders  surrounded  by  their 
retainers,  — all  in  a peculiar  garb  of  their 
own  composition.  They  have  frock  coats, 


196 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


from  these  portraits  to  those  of  a few  con- 
servatives who  paid  no  attention  to  the  mania 
at  all,  and  climg  to  their  native  warrior  garb 
to  the  very  last.  Here  are  nagahakama  worn 
by  horsemen,  — and  jin-baori,  or  war-coats, 
superbly  embroidered,  — and  kamishimo,  — 
and  shirts  of  mail,  — and  full  suits  of  armor. 
Here  also  are  various  forms  of  kaburi,  — the 
strange  but  imposing  head-dresses  anciently 
worn  on  state  occasions  by  princes  and  by 
samurai  of  high  rank,  — curious  cobwebby 
structures,  of  some  light  black  material.  In 
all  this  there  is  dignity,  beauty,  or  the  terrible 
grace  of  war. 

But  everything  is  totally  eclipsed  by  the 
last  photograph  of  the  collection,  — a hand- 
some youth  with  the  sinister,  splendid  gaze 
of  a falcon,  — Matsudaira  Buzen-no-Kami,  in 
full  magnificence  of  feudal  war  costume. 
One  hand  bears  the  tasseled  signal-wand  of  a 
leader  of  armies ; the  other  rests  on  the  mar- 
velous hilt  of  his  sword.  His  helmet  is  a 
blazing  miracle ; the  steel  upon  his  breast 
and  shoulders  was  wrought  by  armorers 
whose  names  are  famed  in  all  the  museums 
of  the  West.  The  cords  of  his  war-coat  are 


JIUJUTSU 


197 


golden ; and  a wondrous  garment  of  heavy 
silk  — all  embroidered  with  billowings  and 
drao’oninc^s  of  gold  — flows  from  his  mailed 
waist  to  his  feet,  like  a robe  of  fire.  And 
this  is  no  dream  ; — this  was  ! — I am  gazing 
at  a solar  record  of  one  real  figure  of  medi- 
seval  life ! How  the  man  flames  in  his  steel 
and  silk  and  gold,  like  some  splendid  irides- 
cent beetle,  — but  a War  beetle,  all  horns  and 
mandibles  and  menace  despite  its  dazzlings 
of  jewel-color ! 


IV 

From  the  princely  magnificence  of  feudal 
costume  as  worn  by  Matsudaira  - Buzen-no- 
Kami  to  the  nondescript  garments  of  the  tran- 
sition period,  how  vast  a fall ! Certainly  the 
native  dress  and  the  native  taste  in  dress 
might  well  have  seemed  doomed  to  pass  away 
forever.  And  when  even  the  Imperial  Court 
had  temporarily  adopted  Parisian  modes,  few 
foreigners  could  have  doubted  that  the  whole 
nation  was  about  to  change  garb.  As  a fact, 
there  then  began  in  the  chief  cities  that  pass- 
ing mania  for  Western  fashions  which  was 
reflected  in  the  illustrated  journals  of  Europe, 


198 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


and  whieli  created  for  a wliile  tlie  impression 
that  picturesque  Japan  had  become  trans- 
formed into  a land  of  “ loud  ” tweeds,  chim- 
ney-pot hats,  and  swallow-tail  coats.  But  in 
the  capital  itself  to-day,  among  a thousand 
passers-by,  you  may  see  scarcely  one  in 
Western  dress,  excepting,  of  course,  the  uni- 
formed soldiers,  students,  and  police.  The 
former  mania  really  represented  a national 
experiment ; and  the  results  of  that  experi- 
ment were  not  according  to  Western  expecta- 
tion. Japan  has  adopted  various  styles  of 
Western  uniform,^  with  some  excellent  modifi- 
cations, for  her  army,  her  navy,  and  her  po- 
lice, simply  because  such  attire  is  the  best 
possible  for  such  callings.  Foreign  civil  cos- 
tume has  been  adopted  by  the  Japanese 
official  world,  but  only  to  be  worn  during 

1 What  seems  to  be  the  only  serious  mistake  Japan  has 
made  in  this  regard  is  the  adoption  of  leather  shoes  for  her 
infantry.  The  fine  feet  of  young  men  accustomed  to  the 
freedom  of  sandals,  and  ignorant  of  the  existence  of  what 
we  call  corns  and  bunions,  are  cruelly  tortured  by  this  un- 
natural footgear.  On  long  marches  they  are  allowed  to 
wear  sandals,  however ; and  a change  in  footgear  may  yet 
be  made.  With  sandals,  even  a Japanese  boy  can  easily 
walk  his  thirty  miles  a day,  almost  unfatigued. 


JIUJUTSU 


199 


office-hours  in  buildings  of  Western  constric- 
tion furnished  with  modern  desks  and  chairsd 
At  home  even  the  general,  the  admiral,  the 
judge,  the  police-inspector,  resume  the  na- 
tional garb.  And,  finally,  both  teachers  and 
students  in  all  but  the  primary  schools  are 
expected  to  wear  uniform,  as  the  educational 
training  is  partly  military.  This  obligation, 
once  stringent,  has,  however,  been  considerably 
relaxed ; in  many  schools  the  uniform  being 
now  obligatory  only  during  drill-time  and 
upon  certain  ceremonial  occasions.  In  all 
Kyushu  schools,  except  the  Normal,  the  stu- 
dents are  free  to  wear  their  robes,  straw 
sandals,  and  enormous  straw  hats,  when  not 
on  parade.  But  everywhere  after  class-hours 
both  teachers  and  students  return  at  home  to 
their  kimono  and  their  girdles  of  white  crape 
silk. 

In  brief,  then,  Japan  has  fairly  resumed 
her  national  dress  ; and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 


^ A highly  educated  Japanese  actually  observed  to  a 
friend  of  mine : “ The  truth  is  that  we  dislike  Western 
dress.  We  have  been  temporarily  adopting  it  only  as  cer- 
tain animals  take  particular  colors  in  particular  seasons,  — 
for  protective  reasons. 


200 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


she  will  never  again  abandon  it.  Not  only 
is  it  the  sole  attire  perfectly  adapted  to  her 
domestic  habits ; it  is  also,  perhaps,  the 
most  dignified,  the  most  comfortable,  and 
the  most  healthy  in  the  world.  In  some 
respects,  indeed,  the  native  fashions  have 
changed  during  the  era  of  Meiji  much  more 
than  in  previous  eras  ; but  this  was  largely 
due  to  the  abolition  of  the  military  caste. 
As  to  forms,  the  change  has  been  slight ; 
as  to  color,  it  has  been  great.  The  fine  taste 
of  the  race  still  appears  in  the  beautiful  tints 
and  colors  and  designs  of  those  silken  or  cot- 
ton textures  woven  for  apparel.  But  the  tints 
are  paler,  the  colors  are  darker,  than  those 
worn  by  the  last  generation ; — the  whole 
national  costume,  in  all  its  varieties,  not  ex- 
cepting even  the  bright  attire  of  children  and 
of  young  girls,  is  much  more  sober  of  tone 
than  in  feudal  days.  All  the  wondrous  old 
robes  of  dazzling  colors  have  vanished  from 
public  life : you  can  study  them  now  only  in 
the  theatres,  or  in  those  marvelous  picture- 
books  reflecting  the  fantastic  and  beautiful 
visions  of  the  Japanese  classic  drama,  which 
preserves  the  Past. 


JIUJUTSU 


201 


V 

Indeed,  to  give  up  tlie  native  dress  would 
involve  the  costly  necessity  of  changing  nearly 
all  the  native  habits  of  life.  Western  costume 
is  totally  unsuited  to  a Japanese  interior ; and 
would  render  the  national  squatting,  or  kneel- 
ing, posture  extremely  painful  or  difficult  for 
the  wearer.  The  adoption  of  Western  dress 
would  thus  necessitate  the  adoption  of  West- 
ern domestic  habits : the  introduction  into 
home  of  chairs  for  resting,  tables  for  eating, 
stoves  or  fireplaces  for  warmth  (since  the 
warmth  of  the  native  robes  alone  renders  these 
Western  comforts  at  present  unnecessary), 
carpets  for  floors,  glass  for  windows,  — in 
short,  a host  of  luxuries  which  the  people  have 
always  been  well  able  to  do  without.  There 
is  no  furniture  (according  to  the  European 
sense  of  the  term)  in  a J apanese  home,  — 
no  beds,  tables,  or  chairs.  There  may  be  one 
small  book-ease,  or  rather  “ book-box ; ” and 
there  are  nearly  always  a pair  of  chests  of 
drawers  in  some  recess  hidden  by  sliding- 
paper  screens ; but  such  articles  are  quite  un- 
like any  Western  furniture.  As  a rule,  you 


202 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


will  see  nothing  in  a Japanese  room  except 
a small  brazier  of  bronze  or  porcelain,  for 
smoking  purposes  ; a kneeling-mat,  or  cushion, 
according  to  season ; and  in  the  alcove  only, 
a picture  or  a flower  vase.  For  thousands  of 
years  Japanese  life  has  been  on  the  floor. 
Soft  as  a hair  mattress  and  always  immacu- 
lately clean,  the  floor  is  at  once  the  couch, 
the  dining-table,  and  most  often  the  writing- 
table  ; although  there  exist  tiny  pretty  writ- 
ing-tables about  one  foot  high.  And  the  vast 
economy  of  such  habits  of  life  renders  it 
highly  improbable  they  will  ever  he  aban- 
doned, especially  while  the  pressure  of  popu- 
lation and  the  struggle  of  life  Continue  to 
increase.  It  should  also  he  remembered  that 
there  exists  no  precedent  of  a highly  civilized 
people  — such  as  were  the  Japanese  before  the 
Western  aggTession  uj)on  them  — abandon- 
ing ancestral  habits  out  of  a mere  spirit  of 
imitation.  Those  who  imagine  the  Japanese 
to  be  merely  imitative  also  imagine  them  to 
be  savages.  As  a fact,  they  are  not  imitative 
at  all : they  are  assimilative  and  adoj)tive 
only,  and  that  to  the  degree  of  genius. 

It  is  probable  that  careful  study  of  Western 


JIUJUTSU 


203 


experience  with  fire-proof  building-material 
will  eventually  result  in  some  changes  in 
Japanese  municipal  architecture.  Already, 
in  some  quarters  of  Tokyo,  there  are  streets 
of  brick  houses.  But  these  brick  dwellings 
are  matted  in  the  ancient  manner ; and  their 
tenants  follow  the  domestic  habits  of  their  an- 
cestors. The  future  architecture  of  brick  or 
stone  is  not  likely  to  prove  a mere  copy  of 
Western  construction  : it  is  almost  certain  to 
develop  new  and  purely  Oriental  features  of 
rare  interest. 

Those  who  believe  the  Japanese  dominated 
by  some  blind  admiration  for  everything  Occi- 
dental might  certainly  expect  at  the  open 
ports  to  find  less  of  anything  purely  Japa- 
nese (except  curios)  than  in  the  interior : 
less  of  Japanese  architecture  ; less  of  national 
dress,  manners,  and  customs;  less  of  native 
religion,  and  shrines,  and  temples.  But 
exactly  the  reverse  is  the  fact.  Foreign 
buildings  there  are,  but,  as  a general  rule,  in 
the  foreign  concessions  only,  and  for  the  use 
of  foreigners.  The  usual  exceptions  are  a 
fire-proof  post-office,  a custom-house,  and  per- 
haps a few  breweries  and  cotton-mills.  But 


204 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


not  only  is  Japanese  architecture  excellently 
represented  at  all  the  foreign  ports : it  is 
better  represented  there  than  in  almost  any 
city  of  the  Interior.  The  edifices  heighten, 
broaden,  expand ; but  they  remain  even  more 
Oriental  than  elsewhere.  At  .Kobe,  at  Naga- 
saki, at  Osaka,  at  Yokohama,  everything  that 
is  essentially  and  solely  Japanese  (except 
moral  character)  accentuates  as  if  in  defiance 
of  foreign  influence.  Whoever  has  looked 
over  Kobe  from  some  lofty  roof  or  balcony 
will  have  seen  perhaps  the  best  possible 
example  of  what  I mean,  — the  height,  the 
queerness,  the  charm  of  a Japanese  port  in 
the  nineteenth  century,  the  blue-gray  sea  of 
tile-slopes  ridged  and  banded  with  white,  the 
cedar  world  of  gables  and  galleries  and  archi- 
tectural conceits  and  whimsicalities  indescri- 
bable. And  nowhere  outside  of  the  Sacred 
City  of  Kyoto,  can  you  witness  a native 
religious  festival  to  better  advantage  than 
in  the  open  ports ; while  the  multitude  of 
shrines,  of  temples,  of  torii,  of  all  the  sights 
and  symbols  of  Shinto  and  of  Buddhism,  are 
scarcely  paralleled  in  any  city  of  the  interior 
except  Nikko,  and  the  ancient  capitals  of 


JIUJUTSU 


205 


Nara  and  Salkyo.  No ! the  more  one  studies 
the  characteristics  of  the  open  ports,  the  more 
one  feels  that  the  genius  of  the  race  will 
never  voluntarily  yield  to  Western  influence, 
beyond  the  rules  of  jiujutsu. 

VI 

The  expectation  that  Japan  would  speedily 
announce  to  the  world  her  adoption  of  Chris- 
tianity was  not  so  unreasonable  as  some  other 
expectations  of  former  days.  Yet  it  might 
well  seem  to  have  been  more  so.  There  were 
no  precedents  upon  which  to  build  so  large 
a hope.  No  Oriental  race  has  ever  yet  been 
converted  to  Christianity.  Even  under  Brit- 
ish rule,  the  wonderful  labors  of  the  Catholic 
propaganda  in  India  have  been  brought  to  a 
standstill.  In  China,  after  centuries  of  mis- 
sions, the  very  name  of  Christianity  is  de- 
tested, — and  not  without  cause,  since  no  small 
number  of  aggressions  upon  China  have  been 
made  in  the  name  of  Western  religion. 
Nearer  home,  we  have  made  even  less  pro- 
gress in  our  efforts  to  convert  Oriental  races. 
There  is  not  the  ghost  of  a hope  for  the  con- 
version of  the  Turks,  the  Arabs,  the  Moors, 


206 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


or  of  any  Islamic  people  ; and  the  memory  of 
the  Society  for  the  Conversion  of  the  Jews 
only  serves  to  create  a smile.  But,  even  leav- 
ing the  Oriental  races  out  of  the  question,  we 
have  no  conversions  whatever  to  boast  of. 
Never  within  modei’n  history  has  Christendom 
been  able  to  force  the  acceptance  of  its  dog- 
mas upon  a people  able  to  maintain  any  hope 
of  national  existence.  The  nominal^  success 

^ Nominal,  because  the  simple  fact  is  that  the  real  object 
of  missions  is  impossible.  This  whole  question  has  been 
very  strongly  summed  up  in  a few  lines  by  Herbert  Spen- 
cer : — 

“ Everywhere,  indeed,  the  special  theological  bias,  accom- 
panying a special  set  of  doctrines,  inevitably  prejudges 
many  sociological  questions.  One  who  holds  a creed  to  be 
absolutely  true,  and  who  by  implication  holds  the  multitu- 
dinous other  creeds  to  be  absolutely  false  in  so  far  as  they 
differ  from  his  own,  cannot  entertain  the  supposition  that 
the  value  of  a creed  is  relative.  That  each  religious  system 

is,  in  its  general  characters,  a natural  part  of  the  society  in 
which  it  is  found,  is  an  entirely  alien  conception,  and  indeed 
a repugnant  one.  His  sy.stem  of  dogmatic  theology  he 
thinks  good  for  all  places  and  all  times.  He  does  not  doubt 
that,  when  planted  among  a horde  of  savages,  it  will  be  duly 
understood  by  them,  duly  appreciated  by  them,  and  will 
work  upon  them  results  such  as  those  he  experiences  from 

it.  Thus  prepossessed,  he  passes  over  the  proofs  that  a 
people  is  no  more  capable  of  receiving  a higher  form  of 
religion  than  it  is  capable  of  receiving  a higher  form  of 


ij  S. 


/ 


JIUJUTSU 


207 


of  missions  among  a few  savage  tribes,  or  the 
vanishing  Maori  races,  only  proves  the  rule ; 
and  unless  we  accept  the  rather  sinister  de- 
claration of  Napoleon  that  missionaries  may 
have  great  political  usefulness,  it  is  not  easy 
to  escape  the  conclusion  that  the  whole  work 
of  the  foreign  mission  societies  has  been  little 
more  than  a vast  expenditure  of  energy,  time, 
and  money,  to  no  real  purpose. 

In  this  last  decade  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, at  all  events,  the  reason  shordd  be  obvi- 
ous. A religion  means  much  more  than  mere 
dogma  about  the  supernatural : it  is  the  syn- 
thesis of  the  whole  ethical  experience  of  a race, 
the  earliest  foundation,  in  many  cases,  of  its 
wiser  laws,  and  the  record,  as  well  as  the 
result,  of  its  social  evolution.  It  is  thus  es- 
sentially a part  of  the  race-life,  and  cannot 
possibly  be  replaced  in  any  natural  manner  by 
the  etliical  and  social  experience  of  a totally 
alien  people,  — that  is  to  say,  by  a totally  alien 

government ; and  that  inevitably  along  with  such  religion, 
as  with  such  government,  there  will  go  on  a degradation 
which  presently  reduces  it  to  one  differing  hut  nominally 
from  its  predecessor.  In  other  words,  his  special  theolo- 
gical bias  blinds  him  to  an  important  class  of  sociological 
truths.” 


208 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


religion.  And  no  nation  in  a healthy  so« 
cial  state  can  voluntarily  abandon  the  faith 
so  profoundly  identified  with  its  ethical  life. 
A nation  may  reshape  its  dogmas : it  may 
willingly  even  accept  another  faith ; but  it  will 
not  voluntarily  cast  away  its  older  belief,  even 
when  the  latter  has  lost  all  ethical  or  social 
usefulness.  When  China  accepted  Buddhism, 
she  gave  up  neither  the  moral  codes  of  her 
ancient  sages,  nor  her  primitive  ancestor-wor- 
ship ; when  Japan  accepted  Buddhism,  she 
did  not  forsake  the  Way  of  the  Gods.  Par- 
allel examples  are  yielded  by  the  history  of 
the  religions  of  antique  Europe.  Only  reli- 
gions the  most  tolerant  can  be  voluntarily 
accepted  by  races  totally  alien  to  those  that 
evolved  them ; and  even  then  only  as  an  addi- 
tion to  what  they  already  possess,  never  as  a 
substitute  for  it.  Wherefore  the  great  success 
of  the  ancient  Buddhist  missions.  Buddhism 
was  an  absorbing  but  never  a supplanting 
power:  it  incorporated  alien  faiths  into  its 
colossal  system,  and  gave  them  new  interpre- 
tation. But  the  religion  of  Islam  and  the 
religion  of  Christianity  — Western  Christian- 
ity — have  always  been  religions  essentially 


JIUJUTSU 


209 


intolerant,  incorporating  nothing  and  zealous 
to  supplant  everything.  To  introduce  Chris- 
tianity, especially  into  an  Oriental  country, 
necessitates  the  destruction  not  only  of  the 
native  faith  but  of  the  native  social  systems  as 
well.  Now  the  lesson  of  history  is  that  such 
wholesale  destruction  can  be  accomplished 
only  by  force,  and,  in  the  case  of  a higlily  com- 
plex society,  only  by  the  most  brutal  force. 
And  force,  the  principal  instrument  of  Chris- 
tian propagandism  in  the  past,  is  still  the  force 
behind  our  missions.  Only  we  have,  or  affect 
to  have,  substituted  money  power  and  menace 
for  the  franker  edge  of  the  sword  ; occasion- 
ally fulfilling  the  menace  for  commercial  rea- 
sons in  proof  of  our  Christian  professions. 
We  force  missionaries  upon  China,  for  exam- 
ple, under  treaty  clauses  extorted  by  war ; and 
pledge  ourselves  to  support  them  with  gun- 
boats, and  to  exact  enormous  indemnities  for 
the  lives  of  such  as  get  themselves  killed.  So 
China  pays  blood-money  at  regular  intervals, 
and  is  learning  more  and  more  each  year  to 
understand  the  value  of  what  we  call  Chris- 
tianity. And  the  saying  of  Emerson,  that  by 
some  a truth  can  never  be  comprehended  until 


210 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


its  light  happens  to  fall  upon  a fact,  has  been 
recently  illustrated  by  some  honest  protests 
against  the  immorality  of  missionary  aggres- 
sions in  China,  — protests  which  would  never 
have  been  listened  to  before  it  was  discovered 
that  the  mission  troubles  were  likely  to  react 
against  purely  commercial  interests. 

But  in  spite  of  the  foregoing  considerations 
there  was  really  at  one  time  fair  reason  for 
believing  the  nominal  conversion  of  Japan 
quite  possible.  Men  could  not  forget  that 
after  the  Japanese  Government  had  been 
forced  by  political  necessity  to  extirpate  the 
wonderful  Jesuit  missions  of  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries,  the  very  word  Chris- 
tian had  become  a term  of  hati’ed  and  scorn.  ^ 

^ The  missionary  work  was  begim  by  St.  Francis  Xavier, 
who  landed  at  Kagoshima  in  Kyushu  on  the  loth  of  August, 
1549.  A curious  fact  is  that  the  word  Bateren,  a corruption 
of  the  Portuguese  or  Spanish/) adre,  and  so  adopted  into  the 
language  two  centuries  ago,  stdl  lingers  among  the  common 
people  in  some  provinces  as  a synonym  for  “ wicked  magi- 
cian.” Another  curious  fact  worth  mentioning  is  that  a 
particular  kind  of  bamboo  screen  — from  behind  which  a 
person  can  see  all  that  goes  on  outside  the  house  without 
being  himself  seen  — is  still  called  a Kirishitan  (Christian). 

Griffis  explains  the  larger  success  of  the  Jesuit  missions 


JIUJUTSU 


211 


But  the  world  had  changed  since  then ; Chris- 
tianity had  changed ; and  more  than  thirty 
different  Chidstian  sects  were  ready  to  com- 
pete for  the  honor  of  converting  Japan.  Out 
of  so  large  a variety  of  dogmas,  represent- 
ing the  principal  shades  both  of  orthodoxy 

of  the  sixteenth  century  partly  hy  the  resemblance  between 
the  outer  forms  of  Koman  Catholicism  and  the  outer  forms 
of  Buddhism.  This  shrewd  judgment  has  been  confirmed 
hy  the  researches  of  Ernest  Satow  (see  Transactions  of  the 
Asiatic  Society  of  Japan,  vol.  ii.  part  2),  who  has  published 
facsimiles  of  some  documents  proving  that  the  grant  to  the 
foreign  missionaries  by  the  Lord  of  Yamaguchi  was  made 
that  they  might  ''^preach  the  law  of  Buddha,'’’  — the  new 
religion  being  at  first  taken  for  a higher  form  of  Buddhism. 
But  those  who  have  read  the  old  Jesuit  letters  from  Japan, 
or  even  the  more  familiar  compilation  of  Charlevoix,  must 
recognize  that  the  success  of  the  missions  could  not  be  thus 
entirely  explained.  It  presents  us  with  psychological  phe- 
nomena of  a very  remarkable  order,  — phenomena  perhaps 
never  again  to  he  repeated  in  the  history  of  religion,  and 
analogous  to  those  strange  forms  of  emotionalism  classed 
hy  Hecker  as  contagious  (see  his  Epidendcs  of  the  Middle 
Ages).  The  old  Jesuits  understood  the  deeper  emotional 
character  of  the  Japanese  infinitely  better  than  any  modern 
missionary  society : they  studied  with  marvelous  keenness 
aU  the  springs  of  the  race-life,  and  knew  how  to  operate 
them.  Where  they  failed,  our  modern  Evangelical  propa- 
gandists need  not  hope  to  succeed.  Still,  even  in  the  most 
flourishing  period  of  the  Jesuit  missions,  only  six  hundred 
thousand  converts  were  claimed. 


212 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


and  of  heterodoxy,  Japan  might  certainly  be 
able  to  choose  a form  of  Christianity  to  her 
own  taste  ! And  the  conditions  of  the  coun- 
try were  more  propitious  than  ever  before  for 
the  introduction  of  some  Western  religion. 
The  whole  social  system  had  been  disorganized 
to  the  very  core ; Buddhism  had  been  dises- 
tablished, and  was  tottering  under  the  blow ; 
Shinto  appeared  to  be  incapable  of  resistance ; 
the  great  military  caste  had  been  abolished  ; 
the  system  of  rule  had  been  changed;  the 
provinces  had  been  shaken  by  war ; the 
Mikado,  veiled  for  centuries,  had  shown  him- 
self to  his  astonished  people  ; the  tumultuous 
flood  of  new  ideas  threatened  to  sweep  away 
all  customs  and  to  wreck  all  beliefs ; and  the 
preaching  of  Christianity  had  been  once  more 
tolerated  by  law.  Nor  was  this  all.  In  the 
hour  of  its  prodigious  efforts  to  reconstruct 
society,  the  Government  had  actually  consid- 
ered the  question  of  Christianity  — just  as 
shrewdly  and  as  impartially  as  it  had  studied 
the  foreign  educational,  military,  and  naval 
systems.  A commission  was  instructed  to 
report  upon  the  influence  of  Christianity  in 
checking  crime  and  vice  abroad.  The  residt 


JIUJUTSU 


213 


confirmed  tlie  impartial  verdict  of  Kaempffer, 
in  the  seventeenth  century,  upon  the  ethics  of 
the  Japanese : “ They  profess  a .great  respect 
and  veneration  for  their  Gods,  and  worship 
them  in  various  ways.  And  I think  I may 
afhrm  that,  in  the  practice  of  virtue,  in  pimty 
of  life,  and  outward  devotion,  they  far  outdo 
the  Christians.” 

In  short,  it  was  wisely  decided  that  the 
foreign  religion,  besides  its  inappropriateness 
to  the  conditions  of  Oriental  society,  had 
proved  itself  less  efficacious  as  an  ethical 
influence  in  the  West  than  Buddhism  had 
done  in  the  East.  Certainly,  in  the  great 
jiujutsu  there  could  have  been  little  to  gain, 
but  much  to  lose,  by  a patriarchal  society 
established  on  the  principle  of  reciprocal 
duties,  through  the  adoption  of  the  teaching 
that  a man  shall  leave  his  father  and  his 
mother  and  shall  cleave  unto  his  wife.^ 

1 A recent  French  critic  declared  that  the  comparatively 
small  number  of  public  charities  and  benevolent  institu- 
tions in  Japan  proved  the  race  deficient  in  humanity! 
Now  the  truth  is  that  in  Old  Japan  the  principle  of  mutual 
benevolence  rendered  such  institutions  unnecessary.  And 
another  truth  is  that  the  vast  number  of  such  institutions 
in  tbe  West  testifies  much  more  strongly  to  the  inliumanity 
than  to  the  charity  of  our  own  civilization. 


214 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


The  hope  of  making  Japan  Christian  by 
Imperial  edict  has  passed  ; and  with  the  reor- 
ganization of  society,  the  chances  of  making 
Christianity,  by  any  means  whatever,  the  na- 
tional religion,  grow  less  and  less.  Probably 
missionaries  must  be  tolerated  for  some  time 
longer,  in  spite  of  their  interference  in  mat- 
ters altogether  outside  of  their  profession ; but 
they  will  accomplish  no  moral  good,  and  in 
the  interim  they  will  be  used  by  those  whom 
they  desire  to  use.  In  1894  there  were  in 
Japan  some  eight  hundred  Protestant,  ninety- 
two  Roman  Catholic,  and  three  Greek  Catho- 
lic missionaries ; and  the  total  expenditure 
for  aU  the  foreign  missions  in  Japan  must 
represent  not  much  less  than  a million  dollars 
a year,  — probably  represents  more.  As  a 
residt  of  this  huge  disbursement,  the  various 
Protestant  sects  claim  to  have  made  about 
50,000  converts,  and  the  Catholics  an  equal 
number ; leaving  some  thirty-nine  million 
nine  hundred  thousand  unconverted  souls. 
Conventions,  and  very  malignant  ones,  forbid 
all  unfavorable  criticism  of  mission  reports ; 
but  in  spite  of  them  I must  express  my  can- 
did opinion  that  even  the  above  figures  are 


JIUJUTSU 


215 


not  altogetlier  trustworthy.  Concerning  the 
Roman  Catholic  missions,  it  is  worthy  of  note 
that  they  profess  with  far  smaller  means  to 
have  done  as  much  work  as  their  rivals  ; and 
that  even  their  enemies  acknowledge  a certain 
solidity  in  that  work  — which  begins,  ration- 
ally enough,  with  the  children.  But  it  is 
difficult  not  to  feel  skeptical  as  to  mission  re- 
ports : when  one  knows  that  among  the  lowest 
classes  of  Japanese  there  are  numbers  ready 
to  profess  conversion  for  the  sake  of  obtain- 
ing pecuniary  assistance  or  employment ; 
when  one  knows  that  poor  boys  pretend  to 
become  Christians  for  the  sake  of  obtaining 
instruction  in  some  foreign  language ; when 
one  hears  constantly  of  young  men,  who,  after 
professing  Christianity  for  a time,  openly 
return  to  their  ancient  gods;  when  one  sees 

— immediately  after  the  distribution  by  mis- 
sionaries of  foreign  contributions  for  public 
relief  in  time  of  flood,  famine,  or  earthquake 

— sudden  announcement  of  hosts  of  conver- 
sions, one  is  obliged  to  doubt  not  only  the  sin- 
cerity of  the  converted,  but  the  morality  of 
the  methods.  Nevertheless,  the  expenditure 
of  one  million  dollars  a year  in  Japan  for  one 


216 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


hundred  years  might  produce  very  large 
results,  the  nature  of  which  may  be  readily 
conceived,  though  scarcely  admired  ; and  the 
existing  weakness  of  the  native  religions,  both 
in  regard  to  educational  and  financial  means 
of  self-defense,  tempts  aggression.  Fortu- 
nately there  now  seems  to  be  more  than  a 
mere  hope  that  the  Imperial  Government  will 
come  to  the  aid  of  Buddhism  in  matters  educa- 
tional. On  the  other  hand,  there  is  at  least 
a faint  possibility  that  Christendom,  at  no 
very  distant  era,  may  conclude  that  her 
, wealthiest  missions  are  becoming  transformed 
into  enormous  mutual  benefit  societies. 

VII 

The  idea  that  Japan  would  throw  open  her 
interior  to  foreign  industrial  enterprise,  soon 
after  the  beginning  of  Meiji,  proved  as  falla- 
cious as  the  dream  of  her  sudden  conversion  to 
Christianity.  The  country  remained,  and  still 
remains,  practically  closed  against  foreign  set- 
tlement. The  Government  itself  had  never 
seemed  inclined  to  pursue  a conservative  pol- 
icy, and  had  made  various  attempts  to  bring 
about  such  a revision  of  treaties  as  would 


JIUJUTSU 


217 


have  made  Japan  a new  field  for  large  invest- 
ments of  Western  capital.  Events,  however, 
proved  that  the  national  course  was  not  to 
be  controlled  by  statecraft  only,  but  was  to  be 
directed  by  something  much  less  liable  to 
error,  — the  Eace-Instinct. 

The  world’s  greatest  philosopher,  writing  in 
1867,  uttered  this  judgment : “ Of  the  way 
in  which  disintegrations  are  liable  to  be  set  up 
in  a society  that  has  evolved  to  the  limit  of 
its  type,  and  reached  a state  of  moving  equi- 
librium, a good  illustration  is  furnished  by 
Japan.  The  finished  fabric  into  which  its 
people  had  organized  themselves  maintained 
an  almost  constant  state  so  long  as  it  was 
preserved  from  fresh  external  forces.  But  as 
soon  as  it  received  an  impact  from  European 
civilization,  — partly  by  armed  aggression, 
partly  by  commercial  impulse,  partly  by  the 
influence  of  ideas,  — this  fabric  began  to  fall 
to  pieces.  There  is  now  in  progress  a political 
dissolution.  Probably  a political  reorganiza- 
tion will  follow;  but,  be  this  as  it  may,  the 
change  thus  far  produced  by  outer  action  is  a 
change  towards  dissolution,  — a change  from 
integrated  motions  to  disintegrated  motions.”  ^ 
1 First  Principles,  2d  Ed.,  § 178. 


218 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


The  political  reorganization  suggested  by  Mr. 
Spencer  not  only  followed  rapidly,  but  seemed 
more  than  likely  to  prove  all  that  could  be 
desired,  providing  the  new  formative  process 
were  not  seriously'  and  suddenly  interfered 
with.  Whether  it  would  be  interfered  with 
by  treaty  revision,  however,  appeared  a very 
doubtful  question.  While  some  Japanese  poli- 
ticians worked  earnestly  for  the  removal  of 
every  obstacle  to  foreign  settlement  in  the  in- 
terior, others  felt  that  such  settlement  would 
mean  a fresh  introduction  into  the  yet  un- 
stable social  organism  of  disturbing  elements 
sure  to  produce  new  disintegrations.  The 
argument  of  the  former  was  that  by  the 
advocated  revision  of  existing  treaties  the  rev- 
enue of  the  Empire  could  be  much  increased, 
and  that  the  probable  number  of  foreign  set- 
tlers would  be  quite  small.  But  conservative 
thinkers  considered  that  the  real  danger  of 
opening  the  country  to  foreigners  was  not  the 
danger  of  the  influx  of  numbers  ; and  on  this 
point  the  Eace-Instinct  agreed  with  them.  It 
comprehended  the  peril  only  in  a vague  way, 
but  in  a way  that  touched  the  truth. 

One  side  of  that  truth  ought  to  be  familiar 


JIUJUTSU 


219 


to  Americans,  — the  Occidental  side.  The 
Occidental  has  discovered  that,  under  any  con- 
ditions of  fair  play,  he  cannot  compete  with 
the  Oriental  in  the  struggle  for  life : he  has 
fully  confessed  the  fact,  both  in  Australia  and 
in  the  United  States,  by  the  passage  of  laws 
to  protect  himself  against  Asiatic  emigration. 
For  outrages  upon  Chinese  or  Japanese  immi- 
grants he  has  nevertheless  offered  a host  of 
absurd  “ moral  reasons.”  The  only  true  rea- 
son can  he  formulated  in  six  words : The  Ori- 
ental can  underlive  the  Occidental.  Now  in 
Japan  the  other  face  of  the  question  was  for- 
mulated thus : The  Occidental  can  overlive 
the  Oriental  ^ tinder  certain  favorable  condi- 
tions. One  condition  would  he  a temperate 
climate  ; the  other,  and  the  more  important, 
that,  in  addition  to  full  rights  of  competition, 
the  Occidental  shoidd  have  power  for  aggres- 
sion. Whether  he  tvould  use  such  power  was 

^ That  is,  of  course,  the  Japanese.  I do  not  believe  that 
under  any  cireumstanees  the  Occidentals  could  overlive  the 
Chinese,  — no  matter  what  might  be  the  numerical  dispro- 
portion. Even  the  Japanese  acknowledge  their  incapacity  to 
compete  with  the  Chinese ; and  one  of  the  best  arguments 
against  the  unreserved  opening  of  the  country  is  the  danger 
of  Chinese  immigration. 


220 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


not  a common-sense  question:  tlie  real  qites- 
tion  was,  could  lie  use  it  ? And  this  answered 
in  the  affirmative,  all  discussion  as  to  the 
nature  of  his  possible  future  policy  of  aggran- 
dizement— whether  industrial,  financial,  polit- 
ical, or  all  three  in  one  — were  pure  waste  of 
time.  It  was  enough  to  know  that  he  might 
eventually  find  ways  and  means  to  master,  if 
not  to  supplant,  the  native  race ; crushing 
opposition,  paralyzing  competition  by  enor- 
mous combinations  of  capital,  monopolizing 
resources,  and  raising  the  standard  of  living 
above  the  native  capacity.  Elsewhere  various 
weaker  races  had  vanished  or  were  vanishing 
under  Anglo-Saxon  domination.  And  in  a 
country  so  poor  as  Japan,  who  could  give 
assurance  that  the  mere  admission  of  foreign 
capital  did  not  constitute  a national  danger  ? 
Doubtless  Japan  would  never  have  to  fear 
conquest  by  any  single  W estern  power : she 
could  hold  her  own,  on  her  own  soil,  against 
any  one  foreign  nation.  Neither  would  she 
have  to  face  the  danger  of  invasion  by  a com- 
bination of  military  powers : the  mutual  jeal- 
ousies of  the  Occident  would  render  impossible 
any  attack  for  the  mere  purpose  of  territorial 


JIUJUTSU 


221 


acquisition.  But  she  might  reasonably  fear 
that,  by  prematurely  opening  her  interior  to 
foreigTi  settlement,  she  would  condemn  her- 
self to  the  fate  of  Hawaii,  — that  her  land 
would  pass  into  alien  ownership?,  that  her  poh 
itics  would  he  regulated  by  foreign  influence, 
that  her  independence  would  become  merely 
nominal,  that  her  ancient  empire  would 
eventually  become  transformed  into  a sort  of 
cosmopolitan  industrial  republic. 

Such  were  the  ideas  fiercely  discussed  by 
opposite  parties  until  the  eve  of  the  war  with 
China,  Meanwhile  the  Government  had  been 
engaged  upon  difficult  negotiations.  To  open 
the  country  in  the  face  of  the  anti-foreign 
reaction  seemed  in  the  highest  degree  danger- 
ous ; yet  to  have  the  treaties  revised  without 
opening  the  country  seemed  impossible.  It 
was  evident  that  the  steady  pressure  of  the 
Western  powers  upon  Japan  was  to  be  main- 
tained unless  their  hostile  combination  could 
be  broken  either  by  diplomacy  or  by  force. 
The  new  treaty  with  England,  devised  by  the 
shrewdness  of  Aoki,  met  the  dilemma.  By 
this  treaty  the  country  is  to  be  opened ; but 


222 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


British  subjects  cannot  own  land.  They  can 
even  hold  land  only  on  leases  terminating, 
according  to  Japanese  law,  ipso  facto  with  the 
death  of  the  lessor.  No  coasting-trade  is  per- 
mitted them  — not  even  to  some  of  the  old 
treaty  ports ; and  all  other  trade  is  to  he 
heavily  taxed.  The  foreign  concessions  are  to 
revert  to  Japan ; British  settlers  pass  under 
Japanese  jurisdiction  ; England,  in  fact,  loses 
everything,  and  Japan  gains  all  by  this  treaty. 
The  first  publication  of  the  articles  stupefied 
the  English  merchants,  who  declared  them 
selves  betrayed  by  the  mother-cmmtry,  — le- 
gally tied  hand  and  foot  and  delivered  into 
Oriental  bondage.  Some  declared  their  re- 
solve to  leave  the  country  before  the  treaty 
should  be  put  in  force.  Certainly  Japan  may 
congratulate  herself  upon  her  diplomacy. 
The  coimtry  is,  indeed,  to  be  opened ; but  the 
conditions  have  been  made  such  as  not  only 
to  deter  foreign  capital  seeking  investment, 
but  as  even  to  drive  existing  capital  away. 
Shoidd  similar  conditions  be  obtained  from 
other  powers,  Japan  will  have  much  more 
than  regained  all  that  she  lost  by  former 
treaties  contrived  to  her  disadvantage.  The 


JIUJUTSU 


223 


Aoki  document  surely  represents  the  highest 
possible  feat  of  jiujutsu  in  diplomacy. 

But  no  one  can  well  predict  what  may 
occur  before  this  or  any  other  new  treaty 
be  put  into  operation.  It  is  still  uncertain 
whether  Japan  will  ultimately  win  all  her 
ends  by  jiujutsu,  although  never  in  history 
did  any  race  display  such  courage  and  such 
genius  in  facing  colossal  odds.  Within  the 
memory  of  men  not  yet  old,  Japan  has  de- 
veloped her  military  power  to  a par  with  that 
of  more  than  one  country  of  Europe ; in- 
dustrially she  is  fast  becoming  a competitor 
of  Europe  in  the  markets  of  the  East ; ed- 
ucationally she  has  placed  herself  also  in  the 
front  rank  of  progress,  having  established  a 
system  of  schools  less  costly  but  scarcely  less 
efficient  than  those  of  any  Western  country. 
And  she  has  done  this  in  spite  of  being  steadily 
robbed  each  year  by  unjust  treaties,  in  spite  of 
enormous  losses  by  floods  and  earthquakes, 
in  spite  of  political  troubles  at  home,  in  spite 
of  the  efforts  of  foreign  proselytizers  to  sap 
the  national  spirit,  and  in  spite  of  the  extraor- 
dinary poverty  of  her  people. 


224 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


vin 

Should  Japan  fail  in  her  glorious  purpose, 
her  misfortune  will  certainly  not  be  owing  to 
any  lack  of  national  sjjirit.  That  quality  she 
possesses  in  a degree  without  existing  modern 
parallel,  — in  a degree  that  so  trite  a word  as 
“ patriotism  ” is  utterly  powerless  to  represent. 
However  psychologists  may  theorize  on  the 
absence  or  the  limitations  of  personal  individ- 
uality among  the  Japanese,  there  can  he  no 
question  at  all  that,  as  a nation,  Japan  pos- 
sesses an  individuality  much  stronger  than  our 
own.  Indeed  we  may  doubt  whether  Western 
civilization  has  not  cultivated  the  qualities  of 
the  individual  even  to  the  destruction  of  na- 
tional feeling. 

On  the  topic  of  duty  the  entire  people  has 
hut  one  mind.  Any  schoolboy  will  say  to  you, 
if  questioned  about  this  subject : “ The  duty  of 
every  Japanese  to  our  Emperor  is  to  help  to 
make  our  country  strong  and  wealthy,  and  to 
help  to  defend  and  preserve  our  national  in- 
dependence.” All  know  the  danger.  All  are 
morally  and  physically  trained  to  meet  it. 
Every  public  school  gives  its  students  a pre- 


JIUJUTSU 


225 


paratory  course  of  military  discipline;  every 
town  has  its  hataillons  scolaires.  Even  the 
children  too  young  to  be  regularly  drilled  are 
daily  taught  to  sing  in  chorus  the  ancient 
songs  of  loyalty  and  the  modern  songs  of  war. 
And  new  patriot  songs  are  composed  at  regu- 
lar intervals,  and  introduced  by  Government 
approval  into  the  schools  and  the  camps.  It 
is  quite  an  experience  to  hear  four  hundred 
students  chanting  one  of  these  at  the  school 
in  which  I teach.  The  young  men  are  all  in 
uniform  on  such  occasions,  and  marshaled  in 
military  rank.  The  commanding  officer  gives 
the  order  to  “ mark  time,”  and  all  the  feet  be- 
gin to  beat  the  ground  together,  with  a sound 
as  of  a driun-roU.  Then  the  leader  sings  a 
verse,  and  the  students  repeat  it  with  surpris- 
ing spirit,  throwing  a peculiar  emphasis  always 
on  the  last  syllable  of  each  line,  so  that  the 
vocal  effect  is  like  a crash  of  musketry.  It 
is  a very  Oriental,  but  also  a very  impressive 
manner  of  chanting:  you  can  hear  the  fierce 
heart  of  Old  Japan  beating  through  every 
word.  But  still  more  impressive  is  the  same 
kind  of  singing  by  the  soldiery.  And  at  this 
very  moment,  while  writing  these  lines,  I hear 


226 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


from  tlie  ancient  castle  of  Kumamoto,  like  a 
pealing  of  thunder,  the  evening  song  of  its 
garrison  of  eight  thousand  men,  mingled 
with  the  long,  sweet,  melancholy  calling  of  a 
hundred  bugles.^ 

The  Government  never  relaxes  its  efforts  to 
keep  aglow  the  old  sense  of  loyalty  and  love 
of  country.  New  festivals  have  lately  been  es- 
tablished to  this  noble  end ; and  the  old  ones 
are  celebrated  with  increasing  fervor  each 
succeeding  year.  Always  on  the  Emperor’s 
birthday,  His  Imperial  Majesty’s  photograph 
is  solemnly  saluted  in  all  the  publie  schools 
and  public  offices  of  the  Empire,  with  appro- 
priate songs  and  ceremonies.^  Occasionally 
some  students,  under  missionary  instigation, 
refuse  this  simple  tribute  of  loyalty  and  grati- 
tude, on  the  extraordinary  ground  that  they 
are  “ Christians,”  and  thus  get  themselves 
ostracized  by  their  comrades  — sometimes  to 

i This  was  written  in  1893. 

^ The  ceremony  of  saluting  His  Majesty’s  picture  is  only 
a repetition  of  the  ceremony  required  on  presentation  at 
court.  A bow  ; three  steps  forward  ; a deeper  how ; three 
more  steps  forward,  and  a very  low  how.  On  retiring  from 
the  Imperial  presence,  the  visitor  walks  backward,  bowing 
again  three  times  as  before. 


JIUJUTSU 


227 


such  an  extent  that  they  find  it  unpleasant  to 
remain  in  the  school.  Then  the  missionaries 
write  home  to  sectarian  papers  some  story 
about  the  persecution  of  Christians  in  Japan, 
iifor  refusing  to  worship  an  Idol  of  the  Em- 
peror"]^ Such  incidents  are,  of  course,  in« 
frequent,  and  serve  only  to  indicate  those 
methods  by  which  the  foreign  evangelizers 
manage  to  defeat  the  real  purpose  of  their 
mission. 

Probably  their  fanatical  attacks,  not  only 
upon  the  native  spirit,  the  native  religion,  and 
the  native  code  of  ethics,  but  even  upon  the 
native  dress  and  customs,  may  partly  account 
for  some  recent  extraordinary  displays  of 
national  feeling  by  the  Japanese  Christians 
themselves.  Some  have  openly  expressed 
their  desire  to  dispense  altogether  with  the 
presence  of  foreign  proselytizers,  and  to  cre- 
ate a new  and  peculiar  Christianity,  to  be 
essentially  Japanese  and  essentially  national 
in  spirit.  Others  have  gone  much  further,  — 
demanding  that  all  mission  schools,  churches, 
and  other  property,  now  held  (to  satisfy  or 
evade  law)  in  Japanese  names,  shall  be  made 

^ TTiis  is  an  authentic  text. 


228 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


over  in  fact  as  well  as  name  to  Japanese 
Christians,  as  a proof  of  the  purity  of  the 
motives  professed.  And  in  sundry  cases  it 
has  already  been  found  necessary  to  surren- 
der mission  schools  altogether  to  native 
direction. 

I spoke  in  a former  paper  of  the  splendid 
enthusiasm  with  which  the  entire  nation  had 
seconded  the  educational  efforts  and  purposes 
of  the  Government.^  Not  less  zeal  and  self- 
denial  have  been  shown  in  aid  of  the  national 
measures  of  self-defense.  The  Emjjeror  him- 
self having  set  the  example,  by  devoting  a 
large  part  of  his  private  income  to  the  pur- 
chase of  ships-of-war,  no  murmur  was  excited 
by  the  edict  requiring  one  tenth  of  aU  govern- 
ment salaries  for  the  same  purpose.  Every 
military  or  naval  officer,  every  professor  or 
teacher,  and  nearly  every  employee  of  the 
Civil  SerGce^  thus  contributes  monthly  to 
the  naval  defense.  Minister,  peer,  or  member 

1 See  Glimpses  of  Unfamiliar  Japan. 

^ Letter-carriers  and  ordinary  policemen  are  exempted. 
But  the  salary  of  a policeman  is  only  about  six  yen  a month ; 
that  of  a letter-carrier  much  less. 


JIUJUTSU 


229 


of  Parliament,  is  no  more  exempt  than  the 
humblest  post-office  clerk.  Besides  these  con- 
tributions by  edict,  to  continue  for  six  years, 
generous  donations  are  voluntarily  made  by 
rich  land-owners,  merchants,  and  bankers 
throughout  the  Emjjire.  For,  in  order  to 
save  herself,  Japan  must  become  strong 
quickly : the  outer  pressure  upon  her  is 
much  too  serious  to  admit  of  delay.  Her 
efforts  are  almost  incredible,  and  their  suc- 
cess is  not  improbable.  But  the  odds  against 
her  are  vast ; and  she  may  — stumble.  Will 
she  stumble?  It  is  very  hard  to  predict. 
But  a future  misfortune  could  scarcely  be 
the  result  of  any  weakening  of  the  national 
spirit.  It  would  be  far  more  likely  to  occur 
as  a result  of  political  mistakes,  — of  rash 
seK-confidence. 


IX 

It  still  remains  to  ask  what  is  the  likely 
fate  of  the  old  morality  in  the  midst  of 
all  this  absorption,  assimilation,  and  reaction. 
And  I think  an  answer  is  partly  suggested 
in  the  following  conversation  which  I had 
recently  with  a student  of  the  University, 


230 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


It  is  written  from  memory,  and  is  therefore 
not  exactly  verbatim,  but  has  interest  as  repre- 
senting the  thought  of  the  new  generation  — ^ 
witnesses  of  the  vanishing  of  the  gods : — 

“ Sir,  what  was  your  opinion  when  you  first 
came  to  this  country,  about  the  Japanese? 
Please  to  be  quite  frauk  with  me.” 

“The  yoimg  Japanese  of  to-day?” 

“No.” 

“ Then  you  mean  those  who  still  follow  the 
ancient  customs,  and  maintain  the  ancient 
forms  of  courtesy,  — the  delightful  old  men, 
like  your  foi’mer  Chinese  teacher,  who  still 
represent  the  old  samurai  spirit?” 

“ Yes.  Mr.  A is  an  ideal  samurai. 

I mean  such  as  he.” 

“ I thought  them  all  that  is  good  and  noble. 
They  seemed  to  me  just  like  their  own  gods.” 

“ And  do  you  still  think  so  well  of  them?  ” 

“Yes.  And  the  more  I see  the  Japanese 
of  the  new  generation,  the  more  I admire  the 
men  of  the  old.” 

“We  also  admire  them.  But,  as  a for- 
eigner, you  must  also  have  observed  their 
defects.” 


JIUJUTSU 


231 


“ What  defects  ? ” 

“ Defects  in  practical  knowledge  of  the 
Western  kind.” 

“But  to  judge  the  men  of  one  civiliza- 
tion by  the  standard  requirements  of  another, 
which  is  totally  difEerent  in  organization, 
would  be  unjust.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
more  perfectly  a man  represents  his  own  civil- 
ization, the  more  we  must  esteem  him  as  a 
citizen,  and  as  a gentleman.  And  judged  by 
their  own  standards,  which  were  morally  very 
high,  the  old  Japanese  appear  to  me  almost 
perfect  men.” 

“ In  what  respect?  ” 

“ In  kindness,  in  courtesy,  in  heroism,  in 
self-control,  in  power  of  self-sacrifice,  in  filial 
piety,  in  simple  faith,  and  in  the  capacity  to 
be  contented  with  a little.” 

“ But  would  such  qualities  be  sufficient  to 
assure  practical  success  in  the  struggle  of 
Western  life? ” 

“ Not  exactly ; but  some  of  them  would  as- 
sist.” 

“The  qualities  really  necessary  for  prac- 
tical success  in  Western  life  are  just  those 
qualities  wanting  to  the  old  J apanese  — are 
they  not  ? ” 


232 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


“ I think  so.” 

“ And  our  old  society  cultivated  those 
qualities  of  unselfishness,  and  courtesy,  and 
benevolence  which  you  admire,  at  the  sac- 
rifice of  the  individual.  But  Western  society 
cultivates  the  individual  by  unrestricted 
competition,  — competition  in  the  power  of 
thinking  and  acting.” 

“ I think  that  is  true.” 

“ But  in  order  that  Japan  be  able  to  keep 
her  place  among  nations,  she  must  adopt  the 
industrial  and  commercial  methods  of  the 
West.  Her  future  depends  upon  her  indus- 
trial development ; but  there  can  be  no  devel- 
opment if  we  continue  to  follow  our  ancient 
morals  and  manners.” 

‘‘Why?” 

“Not  to  be  able  to  compete  with  the  West 
means  ruin ; but  to  compete  with  the  W est  we 
must  follow  the  methods  of  the  West ; and 
these  are  quite  contrary  to  the  old  morality.” 

“ Perhaps.” 

“ I do  not  think  it  can  be  doubted.  To  do 
any  kind  of  business  upon  a very  large  scale, 
men  must  not  be  checked  by  the  idea  that  no 
advantage  should  be  sought  which  could  in- 


JIUJUTSU 


233 


jure  the  business  of  others.  And  on  the  other 
hand,  wherever  there  is  no  restraint  on  compe- 
tition, men  who  hesitate  to  compete  because  of 
mere  kindliness  of  heart,  must  fail.  The  law 
of  the  struggle  is  that  the  strong  and  active 
shall  win,  the  weak  and  the  foolish  and  the 
indifferent  lose.  But  our  old  morality  con- 
demned such  competition.” 

“ That  is  true.” 

“ Then,  Sir,  no  matter  how  good  the  old 
morality,  we  cannot  make  any  great  indus- 
trial progress,  nor  even  preserve  our  national 
independence,  by  following  it.  We  must 
forsake  our  past.  We  must  substitute  law  for 
morality.” 

“ But  it  is  not  a good  substitute.” 

“ It  has  been  a good  substitute  in  the  West, 
if  we  can  judge  by  the  material  greatness  and 
power  of  England.  We  must  learn  in  Japan 
to  be  moral  by  reason,  instead  of  being  moral 
by  emotion.  A knowledge  of  the  moral  rea- 
son of  law  is  itself  a moral  knowledge.” 

“ For  you,  and  those  who  study  cosmic  law, 
perhaps.  But  what  of  the  common  people  ? ” 

“ They  will  try  to  follow  the  old  religion ; 
they  will  continue  to  trust  in  their  gods.  But 


234 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


life  will,  perhaps,  become  more  difficult  for 
them.  They  were  happy  in  the  ancient  days.” 


The  foregoing  essay  was  written  two  years  ago. 
Later  political  events  and  the  signing  of  new 
treaties  obliged  me  to  remodel  it  last  year ; and 
now,  while  the  proofs  are  passing  through  my 
hands,  the  events  of  the  war  with  China  compel 
some  further  remarks.  AVhat  none  could  have  pre- 
dicted in  1893  the  whole  world  recognizes  in  1895 
with  astonishment  and  with  admiration.  Japan 
has  won  in  her  jiujutsu.  Her  autonomy  is  prac- 
tically restored,  her  place  among  civilized  nations 
seems  to  be  assured : she  has  passed  forever  out  of 
Western  tutelage.  What  neither  her  arts  nor  her 
virtues  could  ever  have  gained  for  her,  she  has  ob- 
tained by  the  very  first  display  of  her  new  scien- 
tific powers  of  aggression  and  destruction. 

Not  a little  has  been  hastily  said  about  long 
secret  preparation  for  the  war  made  by  Japan,  and 
about  the  flimsiness  of  her  pretexts  for  entering 
upon  it.  I believe  that  the  purposes  of  her  military 
preparations  were  never  other  than  those  indicated 
in  the  preceding  chapter.  It  was  to  recover  her 
independence  that  Japan  steadily  cultivated  her 
military  strength  for  twenty-five  years.  But  sue- 


JIUJUTSU 


235 


cessive  pulses  of  popular  reaction  against  foreign 
influence  during  that  period  — each  stronger  than 
the  preceding  — warned  the  Government  of  the 
nation’s  growing  consciousness  of  power  and  of  its 
evei'-in creasing  irritation  against  the  treaties.  The 
reaction  of  1893-94  took  so  menacing  a form  through 
the. House  of  Representatives  that  the  dissolution  of 
the  Diet  became  an  immediate  necessity.  But  even 
repeated  parliamentary  dissolutions  could  only  have 
postponed  the  issue.  It  has  since  been  averted 
partly  by  the  new  treaties,  and  partly  by  the  sud- 
den loosening  of  the  Empire's  military  force  against 
China.  Should  it  not  be  obvious  that  only  the 
merciless  industrial  and  pohtical  pressure  exercised 
by  a corahined  Occident  against  Japan  really  com- 
pelled this  war,  — as  a manifestation  of  force  in  the 
direction  of  least  resistance  ? Happily  that  mani- 
festation has  been  effectual.  Japan  has  proved  hei’- 
self  able  to  hold  her  own  against  the  world.  She 
has  no  wish  to  break  her  industrial  relations  with 
the  Occident  unless  further  imposed  upon  ; hut  with 
the  military  revival  of  her  Empire  it  is  almost  cer- 
tain that  the  day  of  Occidental  influence  upon  her 
• — whether  direct  or  indirect  — is  definitely  over. 
Further  anti-foreign  reaction  may  be  expected  in 
the  natural  order  of  things,  — not  necessarily  either 
violent  or  unreasonable,  hut  embodying  the  fullest 
reassertion  of  national  individuality.  Some  change 


236 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


even  in  the  form  of  government  is  not  impossible, 
considering  the  questionable  results  of  experimen- 
tation with  Constitutional  Government  made  by  a 
peojde  accustomed  for  untold  centuries  to  autocratic 
rule-  But  the  fallacy  of  Sir  Harry  Parkes’s  pre- 
diction that  Japan  would  become  “ a South  Ameri- 
can republic  ” warns  against  ventures  to  anticipate 
the  future  of  this  wonderful  and  enigmatic  race. 

It  is  true  that  the  war  is  not  yet  over  ; — but  the 
ultimate  triumph  of  Japan  seems  beyond  doubt,  — 
even  allowing  for  the  formidable  chances  of  a revo- 
lution in  China.  The  world  is  already  asking  with 
some  anxiety  what  will  come  next  ? Perhajjs  the 
compulsion  of  the  most  peaceable  and  most  conser- 
vative of  all  nations,  under  both  Japanese  and  Occi- 
dental pressure,  to  really  master  our  arts  of  war  in 
self-defense.  After  that  perhaps  a great  military 
awakening  of  China,  who  would  be  quite  likely, 
under  the  same  circumstances  as  made  New  Japan, 
to  turn  her  arms  South  and  West.  For  possible 
ultimate  consequences,  consult  Dr.  Pearson’s  re- 
cent book.  National  Character. 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  art  of  jiujutsu 
was  invented  in  China.  And  the  West  has  yet  to 
reckon  with  China,  — China,  the  ancient  teacher  of 
Japan,  — China,  over  whose  changeless  millions 
successive  storms  of  conquest  have  passed  only  as  a 
wind  over  reeds.  Under  compulsion,  indeed,  she 


JIUJUTSU 


237 


may  be  forced,  like  Japan,  to  defend  her  integrity  by 
jiujutsu.  But  the  end  of  that  prodigious  jiujutsu 
might  have  results  the  most  serious  for  the  entire 
world.  It  might  be  reserved  for  China  to  avenge 
all  those  aggressions,  extortions,  exterminations,  of 
which  the  colonizing  West  has  been  guilty  in  deal- 
ing with  feebler  races. 

Already  thinkers,  summarizing  the  experience  of 
the  two  great  colonizing  nations,  — thinkers  not  to 
be  ignored,  both  French  and  English,  — have  pre- 
dicted that  the  earth  will  never  be  fully  dominated 
by  the  races  of  the  West,  and  that  the  future  belongs 
to  the  Orient.  Such,  too,  are  the  convictions  of 
many  who  have  learned  by  long  sojourn  in  the  East 
to  see  beneath  the  surface  of  that  strange  humanity 
so  utterly  removed  from  us  in  thought,  — to  com- 
prehend the  depth  and  force  of  its  tides  of  life,  — to 
imderstand  its  immeasurable  capacities  of  assimi- 
lation,— to  discern  its  powers  of  self -adaptation 
to  almost  any  environment  between  the  arctic  and 
antarctic  circles.  And  in  the  judgment  of  such 
observers  nothing  less  than  the  extermination  of  a 
race  comprising  more  than  one  third  of  the  world’s 
population  could  now  assure  us  even  of  the  future  of 
our  own  civilization. 

Perhaps,  as  has  been  recently  averred  by  Dr. 
Pearson,  the  long  history  of  Western  expansion 
and  aggression  is  even  now  approaching  its  close. 


238 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


Perhaps  our  civilization  has  girdled  the  earth  only 
to  force  the  study  of  our  arts  of  destruction  and 
our  arts  of  industrial  competition  upon  races  much 
more  inclined  to  use  them  against  us  than  for  us. 
Even  to  do  this  we  had  to  place  most  of  the  world 
under  tribute,  — so  colossal  were  the  powers  needed. 
Perhaps  we  could  not  have  attempted  less,  because 
the  tremendous  social  machinery  we  have  created, 
threatens,  like  the  Demon  of  the  old  legend,  to  de- 
vour us  in  the  same  hour  that  we  can  find  no  more 
tasks  for  it. 

A wondrous  creation,  indeed,  this  civilization  of 
ours,  — ever  growing  higher  out  of  an  abyss  of  ever- 
deepening  pain ; but  it  seems  also  to  many  not 
less  monstrous  than  wonderful.  That  it  may  crum- 
ble suddenly  in  a social  earthquake  has  long  been 
the  evil  dream  of  those  who  dwell  in  its  summits. 
That  as  a social  structure  it  cannot  endure,  by  rea- 
son of  its  moral  foundation,  is  the  teaching  of  Ori- 
ental wisdom. 

Certainly  the  results  of  its  labors  cannot  pass 
away  till  man  shall  have  fully  played  out  the  drama 
of  his  existence  upon  this  planet.  It  has  resur- 
rected the  past ; — it  has  revived  the  languages  of 
the  dead ; — it  has  wrested  countless  priceless  se- 
crets from  Nature ; — it  has  analyzed  suns  and  van- 
quished space  and  time ; — it  has  compelled  the 
invisible  to  become  visible ; — it  has  torn  away  aU 


JIUJUTSU  239 

veils  save  the  veil  of  the  Infinite  ; — it  has  founded 
ten  thousand  systems  of  knowledge  ; — it  has  ex- 
panded the  modern  brain  beyond  the  cubic  capacity 
of  the  mediaeval  skull ; — it  has  evolved  the  most 
noble,  even  if  it  has  also  evolved  the  most  detest- 
able, forms  of  individuality ; — it  has  developed 
the  most  exquisite  sympathies  and  the  loftiest 
emotions  known  to  man,  even  though  it  has  de- 
veloped likewise  forms  of  selfishness  and  of  suffer- 
ing impossible  in  other  eras.  Intellectually  it  has 
grown  beyond  the  altitude  of  the  stars.  That  it 
must,  in  any  event,  bear  to  the  future  a relation 
incomparably  vaster  than  that  of  Greek  civilization 
to  the  past,  is  impossible  to  disbelieve. 

But  more  and  more  each  year  it  exemplifies  the 
law  that  the  gi’eater  the  complexity  of  an  organism, 
the  greater  also  its  susceptibility  to  fatal  hurt.  Al- 
ways, as  its  energies  increase,  is  there  evolved  within 
it  a deeper,  a keener,  a more  exquisitely  ramified 
sensibility  to  every  shock  or  wound,  — to  every  ex- 
terior force  of  change.  Already  the  mere  results 
of  a drought  or  a famine  in  the  remotest  parts  of 
the  earth,  the  destruction  of  the  smallest  centre  of 
supply,  the  exhaustion  of  a mine,  the  least  tempo- 
rary stoppage  of  any  commercial  vein  or  artery, 
the  slightest  pressure  upon  any  industrial  nerve, 
may  produce  disintegrations  that  carry  shocks  of 
pain  into  every  portion  of  the  enormous  structure. 


240 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


And  the  wondrous  capacity  of  that  structure  to 
oppose  exterior  forces  hy  corresponding  changes 
within  itself  would  appear  to  he  now  endangered 
by  internal  changes  of  a totally  different  character. 
Certainly  our  civilization  is  developing  the  individ- 
ual more  and  more.  But  is  it  not  now  developing 
him  much  as  artificial  heat  and  colored  light  and 
chemical  nutrition  might  develop  a plant  under 
glass  ? Is  it  not  rapidly  evolving  millions  into 
purely  special  fitness  for  conditions  impossible  to 
maintain,  — of  luxury  without  limit  for  the  few,  of 
merciless  servitude  to  steel  and  steam  for  the  many  ? 
To  such  doubts  the  reply  has  been  given  that  social 
transformations  will  supply  the  means  of  providing 
against  perils,  and  of  recuperating  all  losses.  That, 
for  a time  at  least,  social  reforms  wiU  work  miracles 
is  much  more  than  a hope.  But  the  ultimate  prob- 
lem of  our  future  seems  to  be  one  that  no  conceiv- 
able social  change  can  happily  solve,  — not  even 
supposing  possible  the  establishment  of  an  abso- 
lutely perfect  communism,  • — because  the  fate  of  the 
higher  races  seems  to  depend  upon  their  true  value  in 
the  future  economy  of  Nature.  To  the  query,  “ Are 
we  not  the  Superior  Race  ? ” — we  may  emphati- 
cally answer  “ Yes  ; ” but  this  affirmative  wiU  not 
satisfactorily  answer  a still  more  important  ques- 
tion, “ Are  we  the  fittest  to  survive  ? ” 

Wherein  consists  the  fitness  for  survival?  In 


JIUJUTSU 


241 


the  capacity  of  seK-adaptation  to  any  and  every 
environment ; — in  the  instantaneous  ability  to  face 
the  unforeseen ; — in  the  inherent  power  to  meet 
and  to  master  all  opposing  natural  influences.  And 
surely  not  in  the  mere  capacity  to  adapt  ourselves 
to  factitious  environments  of  our  own  invention,  or 
to  abnormal  influences  of  our  own  manufacture,  — 
but  only  in  the  simple  power  to  live.  Now  in  this 
simple  power  of  living,  our  so-called  higher  races 
are  immensely  inferior  to  the  races  of  the  Far  East. 
Though  the  physical  energies  and  the  intellectual 
resources  of  the  Occidental  exceed  those  of  the  Ori- 
ental, they  can  be  maintained  only  at  an  expense 
totally  incommensurate  with  the  racial  advantage. 
For  the  Oriental  has  proved  his  ability  to  study  and 
to  master  the  results  of  our  science  upon  a diet  of 
rice,  and  on  as  simple  a diet  can  learn  to  manufac- 
ture and  to  utilize  our  most  complicated  Inventions. 
But  the  Occidental  cannot  even  live  except  at  a cost 
sufficient  for  the  maintenance  of  twenty  Oriental 
lives.  In  our  very  superiority  lies  the  secret  of  our 
fatal  weakness.  Our  physical  machinery  requires 
a fuel  too  costly  to  pay  for  the  running  of  it  in  a 
perfectly  conceivable  future  period  of  race-competi- 
tion and  pressure  of  population. 

Before,  and  very  probably  since,  the  apparition 
of  Man,  various  races  of  huge  and  wonderful  crea- 
tures, now  extinct,  lived  on  this  planet.  They  were 


242 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


not  all  exterminated  by  the  attacks  of  natural  ene- 
mies : many  seem  to  have  perished  simply  by  reason 
of  the  enormous  costliness  of  their  structures  at 
a time  when  the  earth  was  forced  to  become  less 
prodigal  of  her  gifts.  Even  so  it  may  be  that  the 
Western  Races  will  perish  — because  of  the  cost  of 
their  existence.  Having  accomplished  their  utter- 
most, they  may  vanish  from  the  face  of  the  world, 
— supplanted  by  peoples  better  fitted  for  survival. 

Just  as  we  have  exterminated  feebler  races  by 
merely  overliving  them,  — by  monopolizing  and 
absorbing,  almost  without  conscious  effort,  every- 
thing necessary  to  their  happiness,  — so  may  we 
ourselves  be  exterminated  at  last  by  races  capable 
of  underliving  us,  of  monopolizing  all  our  necessi- 
ties ; races  more  patient,  more  self-denying,  more 
fertile,  and  much  less  expensive  for  Nature  to  sup- 
port. These  would  doubtless  inherit  our  wisdom, 
adopt  our  more  useful  inventions,  continue  the  best 
of  our  industries,  — perhaps  even  perpetuate  what 
is  most  worthy  to  endure  in  our  sciences  and  our 
arts.  But  they  would  scarcely  regret  our  disappear- 
ance any  more  than  we  ourselves  regret  the  extinc- 
tion of  the  dinotherium  or  the  ichthyosaurus. 


VIII 


THE  BED  BRIDAL 

Falling  in  love  at  first  sight  is  less  common 
in  Japan  than  in  the  West ; partly  because 
of  the  peculiar  constitution  of  Eastern  society, 
and  partly  because  much  sorrow  is  prevented 
by  early  marriages  which  parents  arrange. 
Love  suicides,  on  the  other  hand,  are  not  in- 
frequent; but  they  have  the  particularity  of 
being  nearly  always  double.  Moreover,  they 
must  be  considered,  in  the  majority  of  in- 
stances, the  results  of  improper  relationships. 
Still,  there  are  honest  and  brave  exceptions ; 
and  these  occur  usually  in  country  districts. 
The  love  in  such  a tragedy  may  have  evolved 
suddenly  out  of  the  most  innocent  and  natural 
boy-and-girl  friendship,  and  may  have  a his- 
tory dating  back  to  the  childhood  of  the  vic- 
tims. But  even  then  there  remains  a very 
curious  difference  between  a Western  double 
suicide  for  love  and  a Japanese  joshi.  The 


244 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


Oriental  suicide  is  not  the  result  of  a blind, 
quick  frenzy  of  pain.  It  is  not  only  cool  and 
methodical : it  is  sacramental.  It  involves  a 
marriage  of  which  the  certificate  is  death. 
The  twain  pledge  themselves  to  each  other  in 
the  presence  of  the  gods,  write  their  farewell 
letters,  and  die.  No  pledge  can  be  more 
profoundly  sacred  than  this.  And  therefore, 
if  it  should  happen  that,  by  sudden  outside 
interference  and  by  medical  skill,  one  of  the 
pair  is  snatched  from  death,  that  one  is  bound 
by  the  most  solemn  obligation  of  love  and 
honor  to  cast  away  life  at  the  first  possible 
opportunity.  Of  course,  if  both  are  saved,  all 
may  go  well.  But  it  were  better  to  commit 
any  crime  of  violence  punishable  with  half  a 
hundred  years  of  state  prison  than  to  become 
known  as  a man  who,  after  pledging  his  faith 
to  die  with  a girl,  had  left  her  to  travel  to  the 
Meido  alone.  The  woman  who  should  fail  in 
her  vow  might  be  partially  forgiven ; but  the 
man  who  survived  a j5shi  through  interfer- 
ence, and  allowed  himself  to  live  on  because 
his  purpose  was  once  frustrated,  would  be 
regarded  all  his  mortal  days  as  a perjurer,  a 
murderer,  a bestial  coward,  a disgrace  to  hu- 


THE  RED  BRIDAL  245 

man  nature.  I knew  of  one  such  case  — hut 
I would  now  rather  try  to  tell  the  story  of  an 
humble  love  afEair  which  happened  at  a vil- 
lage in  one  of  the  eastern  provinces. 

I 

The  village  stands  on  the  bank  of  a broad 
but  very  shallow  river,  the  stony  bed  of  which 
is  completely  covered  with  water  only  during 
the  rainy  season.  The  river  traverses  an  im- 
mense level  of  rice-fields,  open  to  the  horizon 
north  and  south,  but  on  the  west  walled  in  by 
a range  of  blue  peaks,  and  on  the  east  by  a 
chain  of  low  wooded  hills.  The  village  itself 
is  separated  from  these  hills  only  by  half  a 
mile  of  rice-fields  ; and  its  principal  cemetery, 
the  adjunct  of  a Buddhist  temple  dedicated  to 
Kwannon-of-the-Eleven-Faces,  is  situated  upon 
a neighboring  summit.  As  a distributing 
centre,  the  village  is  not  unimportant.  Be- 
sides several  hundred  thatched  dwellings  of 
the  ordinary  rustic  style,  it  contains  one  whole 
street  of  thriving  two-story  shops  and  ^inns 
\vith  handsome  tiled  roofs.  It  possesses  also 
a very  picturesque  ujigami,  or  Shinto  parish 
temple,  dedicated  to  the  Sun-Goddess,  and  a 


246 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


pretty  shrine,  in  a grove  of  naulberry-trees, 
dedicated  to  the  Deity  of  Silkworms. 

There  was  born  in  this  village,  in  the 
seventh  year  of  Meiji,  in  the  house  of  one 
Uchida,  a dyer,  a boy  called  Taro.  His 
birthday  happened  to  he  an  aku-nichi,  or 
unlucky  day,  — the  seventh  of  the  eighth 
month,  by  the  ancient  Calendar  of  Moons. 
Therefore  his  parents,  being  old-fashioned 
folk,  feared  and  sorrowed.  But  sjunpathizing 
neighbors  tried  to  persuade  them  that  every- 
thing was  as  it  should  be,  because  the  calen- 
dar had  been  changed  by  the  Emperor’s 
order,  and  according  to  the  new  calendar  the 
day  was  a kitsu-nichi,  or  lucky  day.  These 
representations  somewhat  lessened  the  anxiety 
of  the  jjarents ; but  when  they  took  the  child 
to  the  ujigami,  they  made  the  gods  a gift  of  a 
very  large  paper  lantern,  and  besought  ear- 
nestly that  all  harm  should  be  kept  away  from 
their  boy.  The  kannushi,  or  priest,  repeated 
the  archaic  formidas  required,  and  waved  the 
sacred  gohei  above  the  little  shaven  head,  and 
prepared  a small  amulet  to  be  suspended 
about  the  infant’s  neck ; after  which  the 
parents  visited  the  temjile  of  Kwannon  on  the 


* 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


247 


hill,  and  there  also  made  offerings,  and 
prayed  to  all  the  Buddhas  to  protect  their 
first-born. 

n 

When  Taro  was  six  years  old,  his  parents 
decided  to  send  him  to  the  new  elementary 
school  which  had  been  built  at  a short  dis- 
tance from  the  village.  Taro’s  grandfather 
bought  him  some  writing  - brushes,  paper,  a 
book,  and  a slate,  and  early  one  morning  led 
him  by  the  hand  to  the  school.  Taro  felt 
very  happy,  because  the  slate  and  the  other 
things  delighted  him  like  so  many  new  toys, 
and  because  everybody  had  told  him  that  the 
school  was  a jjleasaut  place,  where  he  would 
have  plenty  of  time  to  play.  Moreover,  his 
mother  had  promised  to  give  him  many  cakes 
when  he  should  come  home. 

, As  soon  as  they  reached  the  school,  — a 
big  two-story  building  with  glass  windows,  — 
a servant  showed  them  into  a larsre  bare 

o 

apartment,  where  a serious-looking  man  was 
seated  at  a desk.  Taro’s  grandfather  bowed 
low  to  the  serious-looking  man,  and  addressed 
him  as  Sensei,  and  humbly  requested  him  to 
teach  the  little  fellow  kindly.  The  Sensei 


248 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


rose  up,  and  bowed  in  return,  and  spoke  cour- 
teousl}^  to  the  old  man.  He  also  put  his  hand 
on  Taro’s  head,  and  said  nice  things.  But 
Taro  became  all  at  once  afraid.  When  his 
grandfather  had  bid  him  good-by,  he  grew 
still  more  afraid,  and  would  have  liked  to  run 
away  home  ; but  the  master  took  him  into  a 
large,  high,  white  room,  full  of  girls  and  boys 
sitting  on  benches,  and  showed  him  a bench, 
and  told  him  to  sit  down.  All  the  boys  and 
girls  turned  their  heads  to  look  at  Taro,  and 
whispered  to  each  other,  and  laughed.  Taro 
thought  they  were  laughing  at  him,  and  began 
to  feel  very  miserable.  A big  bell  rang ; and 
the  master,  who  had  taken  his  place  on  a high 
platform  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  ordered 
silence  in  a tremendous  way  that  terrified 
Taro.  All  became  quiet,  and  the  master  be- 
gan to  speak.  Taro  thought  he  spoke  most 
dreadfully.  He  did  not  say  that  school  was  a 
pleasant  place : he  told  the  pupils  very  plainly 
that  it  was  hot  a place  for  play,  but  for  hard 
work.  • He  told  them  that  study  was  painful, 
but  that  they  must  study  in  spite  of  the  pain 
and  the  difficulty.  He  told  them  about  the 
rules  which  they  must  obey,  and  about  the 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


249 


pnnisliments  for  disobedience  or  carelessness. 
When  they  all  became  frightened  and  still,  lie 
changed  his  voice  altogether,  and  began  to  talk 
to  them  like  a kind  father,  — promising  to  love 
them  just  like  his  own  little  ones.  Then  he 
told  them  how  the  school  had  been  built  by  the 
august  command  of  His  Imperial  Majesty,  that 
the  boys  and  girls  of  the  country  might  become 
wise  men  and  good  women,  and  how  dearly 
they  should  love  their  noble  Emperor,  and  be 
happy  even  to  give  their  lives  for  his  sake. 
Also  he  told  them  how  they  should  love  their 
parents,  and  how  hard  their  parents  had  to 
work  for  the  means  of  sending  them  to  school, 
and  how  wicked  and  ungrateful  it  would  be 
to  idle  during  study-hours.  Then  he  began  to 
call  them  each  by  name,  asking  questions 
iibout  what  he  had  said. 

Taro  had  heard  only  a part  of  the  master’s 
discourse.  His  small  mind  was  almost  en- 
tirely occupied  by  the  fact  that  all  the  boys 
and  girls  had  looked  at  him  and  laughed 
when  he  had  first  entered  the  room.  And  the 
mystery  of  it  all  was  so  painful  to  him  that  he 
could  think  of  little  else,  and  was  therefore 
quite  unprepared  when  the  master  called  his 


name. 


250 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


“ Ucliida  Taro,  what  do  you  like  best  in  the 
world  ? ” 

Taro  started,  stood  up,  and  answered 
f ranldy,  — 

“ Cake.” 

All  the  boys  and  girls  again  looked  at 
him  and  laughed ; and  the  master  asked  re- 
proachfully, “ Uchida  Taro,  do  you  like  cake 
more  than  you  like  your  parents  ? Uchida 
Taro,  do  you  like  cake  better  than  your  duty 
to  His  Majesty  our  Emperor  ? ” 

Then  Taro  knew  that  he  had  made  some 
great  mistake  ; and  his  face  became  very  hot, 
and  all  the  children  laughed,  and  he  began  to 
cry.  This  only  made  them  laugh  still  more  ; 
and  they  kept  on  laughing  until  the  master 
again  enforced  silence,  and  put  a similar  ques- 
tion to  the  next  pupil.  Taro  kept  his  sleeve 
to  his  eyes,  and  sobbed. 

The  bell  rang.  The  master  told  the  chil- 
dren they  would  receive  their  first  writing- 
lesson  during  the  next  class-hour  from  another 
teacher,  but  that  they  could  first  go  out  and 
play  for  a while.  He  then  left  the  room ; 
and  the  boys  and  girls  all  ran  out  into  the 
school-yard  to  play,  taking  no  notice  whatever 


THE  RED  BRIDAL  251 

of  Taro.  The  child  felt  more  astonished  at 
being  thus  ignored  than  he  had  felt  before  on 
finding  himself  an  object  of  general  attention. 
Nobody  except  the  master  had  yet  spoken  one 
word  to  him ; and  now  even  the  master 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  existence.  He 
sat  down  again  on  his  little  bench,  and  cried 
and  cried  ; trying  all  the  while  not  to  make  a 
noise,  for  fear  the  children  would  come  back 
to  laugh  at  him. 

Suddenly  a hand  was  laid  upon  his  shoul- 
der ; a sweet  voice  was  speaking  to  him ; and 
turning  his  head,  he  found  himself  looking 
into  the  most  caressing  pair  of  eyes  he  had 
ever  seen,  — the  eyes  of  a little  girl  about  a 
year  older  than  he. 

“ What  is  it  ? ” she  asked  him  tenderly. 

Taro  sobbed  and  snuffled  helplessly  for  a 
moment,  before  he  could  answer  : “ I am  very 
unhappy  here.  I want  to  go  home.” 

“ Why  ? ” questioned  the  girl,  slipping  an 
arm  about  his  neck. 

“ They  all  hate  me  ; they  will  not  speak  to 
me  or  play  with  me.” 

“ Oh  no  ! ” said  the  girl.  “ Nobody  dis- 
likes you  at  all.  It  is  only  because  you  are  a 


252 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


stranger.  When  I first  went  to  school,  last 
year,  it  was  just  the  same  with  me.  You 
must  not  fret.” 

“ But  all  the  others  are  playing ; and  I 
must  sit  in  here,”  protested  Taro. 

“ Oh  no,  you  must  not.  You  must  come 
and  play  with  me.  I will  he  your  playfellow. 
Come  ! ” 

Taro  at  once  began  to  cry  out  loud.  Self- 
pity  and  gratitude  and  the  delight  of  new- 
found sympathy  filled  his  little  heart  so  full 
that  he  really  could  not  help  it.  It  was  so 
nice  to  be  petted  for  crying. 

But  the  girl  only  laughed,  and  led  him  out 
of  the  room  quickly,  because  the  little  mother 
soul  in  her  divined  the  whole  situation.  “ Of 
course  you  may  cry,  if  you  wish,”  she  said  ; 
“ but  you  must  play,  too  ! ” And  oh,  what  a 
delightful  play  they  played  together  ! 

But  when  school  was  over,  and  Taro’s 
grandfather  came  to  take  him  home.  Taro 
began  to  cry  again,  because  it  was  necessary 
that  he  should  bid  his  little  playmate  good-by. 

The  grandfather  laughed,  and  exclaimed, 
“ Why,  it  is  little  Yoshi,  — Miyahara 
0-Yoshi ! Yoshi  can  come  along  with  us,  and 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


253 


stop  at  the  house  a while.  It  is  on  her  way 
home.” 

At  Taro’s  house  the  playmates  ate  the 
promised  cake  together;  and  0-Yoshi  mis- 
chievously asked,  mimicking  the  master’s  se- 
verity, “ Uchida  Taro,  do  you  like  cake  better 
than  me  ? ” 

m 

0-Yoshi’s  father  owned  some  neighboring 
rice-lands,  and  also  kept  a shop  in  the  village. 
Her  mother,  a samurai,  adopted  into  the  Mi- 
yahara  family  at  the  time  of  the  breaking  up 
of  the  military  caste,  had  borne  several  chil- 
dren, of  whom  0-Yoshi,  the  last,  was  the  only 
survivor.  While  still  a baby,  0-Yoshi  lost 
her  mother.  Miyahara  was  past  middle  age ; 
but  he  took  another  wife,  the  daughter  of  one 
of  his  own  farmers,  — a young  girl  named  Ito 
0-Tama.  Though  swarthy  as  new  copper, 
0-Tama  was  a remarkably  handsome  peasant 
girl,  tall,  strong,  and  active ; but  the  choice 
caused  surprise,  because  0-Tama  coidd  neither 
read  nor  write.  The  surprise  changed  to 
amusement  when  it  was  discovered  that  almost 
from  the  time  of  entering  the  house  she  had 
assmned  and  maintained  absolute  control. 


254 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


But  the  neighbors  stopped  laughing  at  Miyar 
hara’s  docility  when  they  learned  more  about 
0-Tama.  She  knew  her  husband’s  interests 
better  than  he,  took  charge  of  everything,  and 
managed  his  affairs  with  such  tact  that  in  less 
than  two  years  she  had  doubled  his  income. 
Evidently,  Miyahara  had  got  a wife  who  was 
going  to  make  him  rich.  As  a step-mother 
she  bore  herself  rather  Idndly,  even  after  the 
birth  of  her  first  boy.  0-Yoshi  was  well 
cared  for,  and  regularly  sent  to  school. 

While  the  children  were  still  going  to 
school,  a long-expected  and  wonderful  event 
took  place.  Strange  tall  men  mth  red  hair 
and  beards  — foreigners  from  the  West  — came 
down  into  the  valley  with  a great  multitude  of 
Japanese  laborers,  and  constructed  a railroad. 
It  was  carried  along  the  base  of  the  low  hill 
range,  beyond  the  rice-fields  and  mulberry 
groves  in  the  rear  of  the  village  ; and  almost 
at  the  angle  where  it  crossed  the  old  road 
leading  to  the  temple  of  Kwanuon,  a small 
station-house  was  built ; and  the  name  of  the 
village  was  painted  in  Chinese  characters 
upon  a white  signboard  erected  on  a platform. 
Later,  a line  of  telegraph-poles  was  planted, 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


255 


parallel  with  the  railroad.  And  still  later, 
trains  came,  and  shrieked,  and  stopped,  and 
passed,  — nearly  shaking  the  Buddhas  in  the 
old  cemetery  off  their  lotus-flowers  of  stone. 

The  children  wondered  at  the  strange,  level, 
ash-strewn  way,  with  its  double  lines  of  iron 
shining  away  north  and  south  into  mystery; 
and  they  were  awe-struck  by  the  trains  that 
came  roaring  and  screaming  and  smoking,  like 
storm-breathing  dragons,  making  the  ground 
quake  as  they  passed  by.  But  this  awe  was 
succeeded  by  curious  interest,  — an  interest 
intensified  by  the  explanations  of  one  of  their 
school-teachers,  who  showed  them,  by  draw- 
ings on  the  blackboard,  how  a locomotive 
engine  was  made  ; and  who  taught  them,  also, 
the  still  more  marvelous  operation  of  the  tele- 
graph, and  told  them  how  the  new  western 
capital  and  the  sacred  city  of  Kyoto  were  to 
be  united  by  rail  and  wire,  so  that  the  journey 
between  them  might  be  accomplished  in  less 
than  two  days,  and  messages  sent  from  the  one 
to  the  other  in  a few  seconds. 

Taro  and  0-Yoshl  became  very  dear  friends. 
They  studied  together,  played  together,  and 


256 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


visited  eacli  otlier’s  Homes.  But  at  tlie  asre  of 
eleven  O-YosHi  was  taken  from  school  to 
assist  her  step-mother  in  the  household ; and 
thereafter  Taro  saw  her  hut  seldom.  He  fin- 
ished his  own  studies  at  foui'teen,  and  bea'an 
to  learn  his  father’s  trade.  Sorrows  came. 
After  having  given  him  a little  brother,  his 
mother  died ; and  in  the  same  year,  the  kind 
old  grandfather  who  had  first  taken  him  to 
school  followed  her ; and  after  these  things 
the  world  seemed  to  him  much  less  bright 
than  before.  Nothing  further  changed  his 
life  till  he  reached  his  seventeenth  year.  Oc- 
casionally he  would  visit  the  home  of  the 
Miyahara,  to  talk  with  0-Yoshi.  She  had 
grown  up  into  a slender,  pretty  woman  ; but 
for  him  she  was  still  only  the  merry  jdayfellow 
of  happier  days. 


IV 

One  soft  spring  day.  Taro  found  himself 
feeling  very  lonesome,  and  the  thought  came 
to  hun  that  it  would  be  pleasant  to  see 
0-Yoshi.  Probably  there  existed  in  his  mem- 
ory some  constant  relation  between  the  sense 
of  lonesomeness  in  general  and  the  experience 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


257 


of  liis  first  schoolday  in  particular.  At  all 
events,  something  within  him  — perhaps  that 
a dead  mother’s  love  had  made,  or  perhaps 
something  belonging  to  other  dead  people  — 
wanted  a little  tenderness,  and  he  felt  sure  of 
receiving  the  tenderness  from  0-Yoshi.  So 
he  took  his  way  to  the  little  shop.  As  he 
approached  it,  he  heard  her  laugh,  and  it 
sounded  wonderfully  sweet.  Then  he  saw  her 
serving  an  old  peasant,  who  seemed  to  be 
quite  pleased,  and  was  chatting  garrulously^ 
Taro  had  to  wait,  and  felt  vexed  that  he  could 
not  at  once  get  0-Yoshi’s  talk  all  for  himself ; 
but  it  made  him  a little  happier  even  to  he 
near  her.  He  looked  and  looked  at  her,  and 
suddenly  began  to  wonder  why  he  had  never 
before  thought  how  pretty  she  was.  Yes,  she 
was  really  pretty,  — more  pretty  than  any 
other  girl  in  the  village.  He  kept  on  looking 
and  wondering,  and  always  she  seemed  to 
be  growing  prettier.  It  was  very  strange  ; he 
could  not  understand  it.  But  0-Yoshi,  for 
the  first  time,  seemed  to  feel  shy  under  that 
earnest  gaze,  and  blushed  to  her  little  ears. 
Then  Taro  felt  quite  sure  that  she  was  more 
beautiful  than  anybody  else  in  the  whole 


258 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


world,  and  sweeter,  and  better,  and  that  he 
wanted  to  tell  her  so ; and  all  at  once  he 
found  himself  angry  with  the  old  peasant  for 
talking  so  much  to  0-Yoshi,  just  as  if  she  were 
a common  person.  In  a few  minutes  the  uni- 
verse had  been  quite  changed  for  Taro,  and 
he  did  not  know  it.  He  only  knew  that  since 
he  last  saw  her  0-Yoshi  had  become  divine ; 
and  as  soon  as  the  chance  came,  he  told  her 
all  his  foolish  heart,  and  she  told  him  hers. 
And  they  wondered  because  their  thoughts 
were  so  much  the  same;  and  that  was  the 
beginning  of  great  trouble. 

V 

The  old  peasant  whom  Taro  had  once  seen 
talking  to  0-Yoshi  had  not  visited  the  shop 
merely  as  a customer.  In  addition  to  his 
real  calling  he  was  a professional  nakodo, 
or  match-maker,  and  was  at  that  very  time 
acting  in  the  service  of  a wealthy  rice  dealer 
named  Okazaki  Yai’chiro.  Okazaki  had  seen 
0-Yoshi,  had  taken  a fancy  to  her,  and  had 
commissioned  the  nakodo  to  find  out  every- 
thing possible  about  her,  and  about  the  cir- 
cumstances of  her  family. 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


259 


Tery  miicli  detested  by  the  peasants,  and 
even  by  his  more  immediate  neighbors  in  the 
village,  was  Okazaki  Yai’chiro.  He  was  an 
elderly  man,  gross,  hard-featured,  with  a loud, 
insolent  manner.  He  was  said  to  be  malig- 
nant. He  was  known  to  have  speculated 
successfully  in  rice  during  a period  of  famine, 
which  the  peasant  considers  a crime,  and  never 
forgives.  He  was  not  a native  of  the  ken,  nor 
in  any  way  related  to  its  people,  but  had 
come  to  the  village  eighteen  years  before,  with 
his  wife  and  one  child,  from  some  western  dis- 
trict. His  wife  had  been  dead  two  years,  and 
his  only  son,  whom  he  was  said  to  have 
treated  cruelly,  had  suddenly  left  him,  and 
gone  away,  nobody  knew  whither.  Other  un- 
pleasant stories  were  told  about  him.  One 
was  that,  in  his  native  western  province,  a 
furious  mob  had  sacked  his  house  and  his 
godowns,  and  obliged  him  to  fly  for  his  life. 
Another  was  that,  on  his  wedding  night,  he 
had  been  compelled  to  give  a banquet  to  the 
god  Jizo. 

It  is  still  customary  in  some  provinces,  on 
the  occasion  of  the  marriage  of  a very  unpop- 
ular farmer,  to  make  the  bridegroom  feast 


260 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


Jizo.  A band  of  sturdy  young  men  force 
their  way  into  the  house,  carrying  with  them 
a stone  image  of  the  divinity,  borrowed  from 
the  highway  or  from  some  neighboring  cem- 
etery. A large  crowd  follows  them.  They 
deposit  the  image  in  the  guest-room,  and  they 
demand  that  ample  offerings  of  food  and  of 
sake  be  made  to  it  at  once.  This  means,  of 
course,  a big  feast  for  themselves,  and  it  is 
more  than  dangerous  to  refuse.  All  the  un- 
invited guests  must  be  served  tiU  they  can 
neither  eat  nor  drink  any  more.  The  obliga- 
tion to  give  such  a feast  is  not  only  a public 
rebuke : it  is  also  a lasting  public  disgrace. 

In  his  old  age,  Okazaki  wished  to  treat  him- 
self to  the  luxury  of  a young  and  pretty  wife ; 
but  in  spite  of  his  wealth  he  found  this  wish 
less  easy  to  gratify  than  he  had  expected. 
Various  families  had  checkmated  his  pro- 
posals at  once  by  stipulating  impossible  con- 
ditions. The  Headman  of  the  village  had 
answered,  less  politely,  that  he  would  sooner 
give  his  daughter  to  an  oni  (demon).  And 
the  rice  dealer  would  probably  have  found 
himself  obliged  to  seek  for  a wife  in  some 
other  district,  if  he  had  not  happened,  after 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


261 


these  failures,  to  notice  0-Yoshi.  The  girl 
much  more  than  pleased  him  ; and  he  thought 
he  might  be  able  to  obtain  her  by  making  cer- 
tain offers  to  her  people,  whom  he  suj)posed  to 
be  poor.  Accordingly,  he  tried,  through  the 
nakodo,  to  open  negotiations  with  the  Miya- 
hara  family. 

0-Yoshi’s  peasant  step-mother,  though  en- 
tirely uneducated,  was  very  much  the  reverse 
of  a simple  woman.  She  had  never  loved  her 
step-daughter,  but  was  much  too  intelligent  to 
be  cruel  to  her  without  reason.  Moreover, 
0-Yoshi  was  far  from  being  in  her  way. 
0-Yoshi  was  a faithful  worker,  obedient, 
sweet-tempered,  and  very  useful  in  the  house. 
But  the  same  cool  shrewdness  that  discerned 
0-Yoshi’s  merits  also  estimated  the  girl’s 
value  in  the  marriage  market.  Okazaki 
never  suspected  that  he  was  going  to  deal 
with  his  natural  superior  in  cimning.  0-Tama 
knew  a great  deal  of  his  history.  She  knew 
the  extent  of  his  wealth.  She  was  aware  of 
his  unsuccessful  attempts  to  obtain  a wife 
from  various  families,  both  within  and  with- 
out the  village.  She  suspected  that  0-Yoshi’s 
beauty  might  have  aroused  a real  passion,  and 


262 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


she  knew  that  an  old  man’s  passion  might  he 
taken  advantage  of  in  a large  number  of  cases. 
0-Yoshi  was  not  wonderfully  beautiful,  but 
she  was  a really  pretty  and  graceful  girl,  with 
very  winning  ways ; and  to  get  another  like 
her,  Okazaki  would  have  to  travel  far. 
Should  he  refuse  to  pay  well  for  the  privilege 
of  obtaining  such  a wife,  0-Tama  knew  of 
younger  men  who  would  not  hesitate  to  be 
generous.  He  might  have  0-Yoshi,  but  never 
upon  easy  terms..  After  the  repulse  of  his 
first  advances,  his  conduct  would  betray  him. 
Should  he  prove  to  be  really  enamored,  he 
could  be  forced  to  do  more  than  any  other  res- 
ident of  the  district  could  possibly  afford.  It 
was  therefore  highly  important  to  discover  the 
real  strength  of  his  inclination,  and  to  keep 
the  whole  matter,  in  the  mean  time,  from  the 
knowledge  of  O-Yoshi.  As  the  reputation  of 
the  nakodo  depended  on  professional  silence, 
there  was  no  likelihood  of  his  betraying  the 
secret. 

The  policy  of  the  Miyahara  family  was  set- 
tled in  a consultation  between  0-Yoshi’s  father 
and  her  step-mother.  Old  Miyahara  would 
have  scarcely  presiuned,  in  any  event,  to  op- 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


263 


pose  Ms  wife’s  plans  ; but  she  took  the  pre- 
caution of  persuading  him,  first  of  all,  that 
such  a marriage  ought  to  be  in  many  ways  to 
his  daughter’s  interest.  She  discussed  with 
him  the  possible  financial  advantages  of  the 
union.  She  represented  that  there  were,  in- 
deed, unpleasant  risks,  but  that  these  coidd  be 
provided  against  by  making  Okazaki  agree  to 
certain  preliminary  settlements.  Then  she 
taught  her  husband  his  role.  Pending  nego- 
tiations, the  visits  of  Taro  were  to  be  encour- 
aged. The  liking  of  the  pair  for  each  other 
was  a mere  cobweb  of  sentiment  that  could  be 
brushed  out  of  existence  at  the  required  mo- 
ment ; and  meantime  it  was  to  be  made  use  of. 
That  Okazaki  shoMd  hear  of  a likely  young 
rival  might  hasten  desirable  conclusions. 

It  was  for  these  reasons  that,  when  Taro’s 
father  first  proposed  for  0-Yoshi  in  his  son’s 
name,  the  suit  was  neither  accepted  nor  dis- 
couraged. The  only  immediate  objection  of- 
fered was  that  0-Yoshi  was  one  year  older 
than  Taro,  and  that  such  a marriage  would  be 
contrary  to  custom,  — which  was  quite  true. 
Still,  the  objection  was  a weak  one,  and  had 
been  selected  because  of  its  apparent  unimpor- 
tance. 


264  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

Okazaki’s  first  overtures  were  at  tlie  same 
time  received  In  suck  a manner  as  to  convey 
tke  Impression  that  tkeir  sincerity  was  sus- 
pected. Tke  MIyakara  refused  to  understand 
tke  nakodo  at  all.  Tkey  remained  astonlsk- 
ingly  obtuse  even  to  tke  plainest  assurances, 
until  Okazaki  found  It  politic  to  skape  wkat 
ke  tkougkt  a tempting  offer.  Old  MIyakara 
tken  declared  tkat  ke  would  leave  tke  matter 
in  kls  wife’s  kands,  and  abide  by  ker  decision. 

0-Tama  decided  by  Instantly  rejecting  tke 
proposal,  witk  every  appearance  of  scornful 
astoniskment.  Ske  said  unpleasant  tilings. 
Tkere  was  once  a man  wko  wanted  to  get  a 
beautiful  wife  very  ckeap.  At  last  he  found 
a beautiful  woman  wko  said  ske  ate  only  two 
grains  of  rice  every  day.  So  ke  married  her ; 
and  every  day  ske  put  Into  her  mouth  only 
two  grains  of  rice ; and  he  was  happy.  But 
one  night,  on  returning  from  a journey,  he 
watched  her  secretly  through  a hole  In  the 
roof,  and  saw  her  eating  monstrously,  — de- 
vouring mountains  of  rice  and  fish,  and  put- 
ting aU  tke  food  Into  a hole  In  tke  top  of  her 
head  under  her  hair.  Tken  he  knew  tkat  ke 
had  married  tke  Yama-Omba. 


THE  RED  BRIDAL  265 

0-Tama  waited  a month  for  the  results  of 
her  rebuff,  — waited  very  confidently,  know- 
ing how  the  imagined  value  of  something 
wished  for  can  be  increased  by  the  increase  of 
the  difficulty  of  getting  it.  And,  as  she  ex- 
pected, the  nakodo  at  last  reappeared.  This 
time  Okazaki  approached  the  matter  less  con- 
descendingly than  before ; adding  to  his  first 
offer,  and  even  volunteering  seductive  prom- 
ises. Then  she  knew  she  was  going  to  have 
him  in  her  power.  Her  plan  of  campaign 
was  not  complicated,  hut  it  was  founded  upon 
a deep  instinctive  knowledge  of  the  uglier 
side  of  human  nature;  and  she  felt  sure  of 
success.  Promises  were  for  fools ; legal  con- 
tracts involving  conditions  were  traps  for  the 
simple.  Okazaki  should  yield  up  no  small 
portion  of  his  property  before  obtaining 
0-Yoshi. 

VI 

Taro’s  father  earnestly  desired  his  son’s 
marriage  with  0-Yoshi,  and  had  tried  to  bring 
it  about  in  the  usual  way.  He  was  surprised 
at  not  being  able  to  get  any  definite  answer 
from  the  Miyahara.  He  was  a plain,  simple 
man ; but  he  had  the  intuition  of  sympathetic 


266 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


natures,  and  the  unusually  gracious  manner 
of  0-Tama,  whom  he  had  always  disliked, 
made  him  suspect  that  he  had  nothing  to 
hope.  He  thought  it  best  to  tell  his  sus- 
picions to  Taro,  with  the  result  that  the  lad 
fretted  himself  into  a fever.  But  0-Yoshi’s 
step-mother  had  no  intention  of  reducing 
Taro  to  despair  at  so  early  a stage  of  her  plot. 
She  sent  kindly  worded  messages  to  the  house 
during  his  illness,  and  a letter  from  0-Yoshi, 
which  had  the  desired  effect  of  reviving  all 
his  hopes.  After  his  sickness,  he  was  gra- 
ciously received  by  the  Miyahara,  and  allowed 
to  talk  to  0-Yoshi  in  the  shop.  Nothing, 
however,  was  said  about  his  father’s  visit. 

The  lovers  had  also  frequent  chances  to 
meet  at  the  ujigami  court,  whither  0-Yoshi 
often  went  with  her  step-mother’s  last  baby. 
Even  among  the  crowd  of  nurse-girls,  chil- 
dren, and  young  mothers,  they  could  ex- 
change a few  words  without  fear  of  gossip. 
Their  hopes  received  no  further  serious  check 
for  a month,  when  0-Tama  pleasantly  pro- 
posed to  Taro’s  father  an  impossible  pecu- 
niary arrangement.  She  had  lifted  a corner 
of  her  mask,  because  Okazaki  was  struggling 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


267 


wildly  in  the  net  she  had  spread  for  him,  and 
by  the  violence  of  the  struggles  she  knew  the 
end  was  not  far  off.  0-Yoshi  was  still  igno- 
rant of  what  was  going  on ; but  she  had 
reason  to  fear  that  she  would  never  be  given  to 
Taro. ' She  was  becoming  thinner  and  paler. 

Taro  one  morning  took  his  child-brother 
with  him  to  the  temple  court,  in  the  hope  of 
an  opportunity  to  chat  with  0-Yoshi.  They 
met;  and  he  told  her  that  he  was  feeling 
afraid.  He  had  found  that  the  little  wooden 
amulet  which  his  mother  had  put  about  his 
neck  when  he  was  a child  had  been  broken 
within  the  silken  cover. 

“ That  is  not  bad  luck,”  said  0-Yoshi. 
“ It  is  only  a sign  that  the  august  gods  have 
been  guarding  you.  There  has  been  sickness 
in  the  village ; and  you  caught  the  fever,  but 
you  got  well.  The  holy  charm  shielded  you  : 
that  is  why  it  was  broken.  Tell  the  kannushi 
to-day : he  will  give  you  another.” 

Because  they  were  very  unhappy,  and  had 
never  done  harm  to  anybody,  they  began  to 
reason  about  the  justice  of  the  universe. 

Taro  said : “ Perhaps  in  the  former  life  we 
hated  each  other.  Perhaps  I was  imkind  to 


268 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


you,  or  you  to  me.  And  this  is  our  punish- 
ment. The  priests  say  so.” 

0-Yoshi  made  answer  with  something  of 
her  old  playfulness  : “ I was  a man  then,  and 
you  were  a woman.  I loved  you  very,  very 
much ; hut  you  were  very  unkind  to  me.  I 
remember  it  all  quite  well.” 

“You  are  not  a Bosatsu,”  returned  Taro, 
smiling  despite  his  sorrow ; “ so  you  cannot 
remember  anything.  It  is  only  in  the  first 
of  the  ten  states  of  Bosatsu  that  we  begin  to 
remember.” 

“ How  do  you  know  I am  not  a Bosatsu?” 

“ You  are  a woman.  A woman  cannot  be 
a Bosatsu.” 

“ But  is  not  Kwan-ze-on  Bosatsu  a wo- 
man ? ” 

“ Well,  that  is  true.  But  a Bosatsu  cannot 
love  anything  except  the  kyo.” 

“ Did  not  Shaka  have  a wife  and  a son  ? 
Did  he  not  love  them  ? ” 

“ Yes ; but  you  know  he  had  to  leave 
them.” 

“ That  was  very  bad,  even  if  Shaka  did  it. 
But  I don’t  believe  all  those  stories.  And 
would  you  leave  me,  if  you  could  get  me  ? ” 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


269 


So  they  theorized  and  argued,  and  even 
laughed  betimes : it  was  so  pleasant  to  be 
together.  But  suddenly  the  girl  became 
serious  again,  and  said : — 

“ Listen ! Last  night  I saw  a dream.  I 
saw  a strange  river,  and  the  sea.  I was 
standing,  I thought,  beside  the  river,  very 
near  to  where  it  flowed  into  the  sea.  And  I 
was  afraid,  very  much  afraid,  and  did  not 
know  why.  Then  I looked,  and  saw  there 
was  no  water  in  the  river,  no  water  in  the  sea, 
but  only  the  bones  of  the  Buddhas.  But  they 
were  all  moving,  just  like  water. 

“ Then  again  I thought  I was  at  home,  and 
that  you  had  given  me  a beautiful  gift-silk 
for  a kimono,  and  that  the  kimono  had  been 
made.  And  I put  it  on.  And  then  I won- 
dered, because  at  first  it  had  seemed  of  many 
colors,  but  now  it  was  all  white ; and  I had 
foolishly  folded  it  upon  me  as  the  robes  of  the 
dead  are  folded,  to  the  left.  Then  I went  to 
the  homes  of  all  my  kinsfolk  to  say  good-by ; 
and  I told  them  I was  going  to  the  Meido. 
And  they  all  asked  me  why ; and  I could  not 
answer.” 

“ That  is  good,”  responded  Taro ; “ it  is 


270 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


very  lucky  to  dream  of  tke  dead.  Perhaps  it 
is  a sign  we  shall  soon  be  husband  and  wife.” 

This  time  the  girl  did  not  reply ; neither 
did  she  smile. 

Taro  was  silent  a minute  ; then  he  added  •. 
“ If  you  think  it  was  not  a good  dream, 
Yoshi,  whisper  it  all  to  the  nanten  plant  in 
the  garden : then  it  will  not  come  true.” 

But  on  the  evening  of  the  same  day  Taro’s 
father  was  notified  that  Miyahara  O-Yoshi 
was  to  become  the  wife  of  Okazaki  Yai'chiro. 

VII 

O-Tama  was  really  a very  clever  woman. 
She  had  never  made  any  serious  mistakes. 
She  was  one  of  those  excellently  organized 
beings  who  succeed  in  life  by  the  perfect  ease 
with  which  they  exploit  inferior  natures. 
The  fuU  experience  of  her  peasant  ancestry 
in  patience,  in  cunning,  in  crafty  perception, 
in  rajiid  foresight,  in  hard  economy,  was  con- 
centrated into  a perfect  machinery  within  her 
unlettered  brain.  That  machinery  worked 
faultlessly  in  the  environment  which  had 
called  it  into  existence,  and  upon  the  par- 
ticular human  material  with  which  it  was 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


271 


adapted  to  deal,  — the  nature  of  the  peasant. 
But  there  was  another  nature  which  0-Tama 
understood  less  well,  because  there  was  no- 
thing in  her  ancestral  experience  to  elucidate 
it.  She  was  a strong  disbeliever  in  all  the 
old  ideas  about  character  distinctions  between 
samurai  and  heimin.  She  considered  there 
had  never  been  any  differences  between  the 
military  and  the  agricultural  classes,  except 
such  differences  of  rank  as  laws  and  customs 
had  established ; and  these  had  been  bad. 
Laws  and  customs,  she  thought,  had  resulted 
in  making  all  people  of  the  former  samurai 
class  more  or  less  helpless  and  foolish ; and 
secretly  she  despised  all  shizoku.  By  their  in- 
capacity for  hard  work  and  their  absolute  igno- 
rance of  business  methods,  she  had  seen  them 
reduced  from  wealth  to  misery.  She  had  seen 
the  pension  bonds  given  them  by  the  new  gov- 
ernment pass  from  their  hands  into  the 
clutches  of  cunning  speculators  of  the  most 
vulgar  class.  She  despised  weakness ; she  de- 
spised incapacity  ; and  she  deemed  the  com- 
monest vegetable  seller  a much  superior  being 
to  the  ex-Karo  obliofed  in  his  old  agre  to  bes: 
assistance  fi’om  those  who  had  formerly  cast 


272 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


off  their  footgear  and  bowed  their  heads  to  the 
mud  whenever  he  passed  by.  She  did  not  con- 
sider it  an  advantage  for  0-Yoshi  to  have  had 
a samurai  mother : she  attributed  the  girl’s 
delicacy  to  that  cause,  and  thought  her  de- 
scent a misfortune.  She  had  clearly  read  in 
0-Yoshi’s  character  all  that  could  be  read  by 
one  not  of  a superior  caste ; among  other 
facts,  that  nothing  would  be  gained  by  need- 
less harshness  to  the  child,  and  the  implied 
quality  was  not  one  that  she  disliked.  But 
there  were  other  qualities  in  0-Yoshi  that  she 
had  never  clearly  perceived,  — a profound 
though  well-controlled  sensitiveness  to  moral 
wrong,  an  unconquerable  self-respect,  and  a la- 
tent reserve  of  will  power  that  could  triumph 
over  any  physical  pain.  And  thus  it  happened 
that  the  behavior  of  0-Yoshi,  when  told  she 
would  have  to  become  the  wife  of  Okazaki, 
duped  her  step-mother,  who  was  prepared  to 
encounter  a revolt.  She  was  mistaken. 

At  first  the  girl  turned  white  as  death. 
But  in  another  moment  she  blushed,  smiled, 
bowed  down,  and  agreeably  astonished  the 
Miyahara  by  announcing,  in  the  formal  lan- 
guage of  filial  piety,  her  readiness  to  obey  the 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


273 


will  of  her  parents  in  all  things.  There  was 
no  further  appearance  even  of  secret  dissat- 
isfaction in  her  manner ; and  0-Tama  was 
so  pleased  that  she  took  her  into  confidence, 
and  told  her  something  of  the  comedy  of  the 
negotiations,  and  the  full  extent  of  the 
sacrifices  which  Okazaki  had  been  compelled 
to  make.  Furthermore,  in  addition  to  such 
trite  consolations  as  are  always  offered  to  a 
young  girl  betrothed  without  her  own  consent 
to  an  old  man,  0-Tama  gave  her  some  really 
priceless  advice  how  to  manage  Okazaki. 
Taro’s  name  was  not  even  once  mentioned. 
For  the  advice  0-Yoshi  dutifully  thanked  her 
step-mother,  with  graceful  prostrations.  It 
was  certainly  admirable  advice.  Almost  any 
intelligent  peasant  girl,  fully  instructed  by 
such  a teacher  as  0-Tama,  might  have  been 
able  to  support  existence  with  Okazaki.  But 
0-Yoshi  was  only  half  a peasant  girl.  Her 
first  sudden  pallor  and  her  subsequent  crimson 
flush,  after  the  announcement  of  the  fate  re- 
served for  her,  were  caused  by  two  emotional 
sensations  of  which  0-Tama  was  far  from  sus- 
pecting the  nature.  Both  represented  much 
more  complex  and  rapid  thinking  than  0-Tama 


274 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


had  ever  done  in  all  her  calculating  experi- 
ence. 

The  first  was  a shock  of  horror  accompany- 
ing the  full  recognition  of  the  absolute  moral 
insensibility  of  her  step-mother,  the  utter  hope- 
lessness of  any  protest,  the  virtual  sale  of  her 
person  to  that  hideous  old  man  for  the  sole 
motive  of  unnecessary  gain,  the  cruelty  and 
the  shame  of  the  transaction.  But  almost  as 
quickly  there  rushed  to  her  consciousness  an 
equally  complete  sense  of  the  need  of  courage 
and  strength  to  face  the  worst,  and  of  subtlety 
to  cope  with  strong  cunning.  It  was  then  she 
smiled.  And  as  she  smiled,  her  young  will 
became  steel,  of  the  sort  that  severs  iron  with- 
out turning  edge.  She  knew  at  once  exactly 
what  to  do,  — her  samurai  blood  told  her  that ; 
and  she  plotted  only  to  gain  the  time  and 
the  chance.  And  she  felt  already  so  sure  of 
triumph  that  she  had  to  make  a strong  effort 
not  to  laugh  aloud.  The  light  in  her  eyes 
completely  deceived  0-Tama,  who  detected 
only  a manifestation  of  satisfied  feeling,  and 
imagined  the  feeling  due  to  a sudden  percep- 
tion of  advantages  to  be  gained  by  a rich 
marriage. 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


275 


it  was  tlie  fifteenth  day  of  the  ninth 
month ; and  the  wedding  was  to  be  celebrated 
upon  the  sixth  of  the  tenth  month.  But  three 
days  later,  O-Tama,  rising  at  dawn,  found 
that  her  step-daughter  had  disappeared  during 
the  night.  Taro  Uchida  had  not  been  seen  by 
his  father  since  the  afternoon  of  the  previous 
day.  But  letters  from  both  were  received 
a few  hours  afterwards. 

vin 

The  early  morning  train  from  Kyoto  was  in ; 
the  little  station  was  full  of  hurry  and  noise, 
— clattering  of  geta,  humming  of  converse, 
and  fragmentary  cries  of  village  boys  selling 
cakes  and  luncheons:  '•'•Kwashi  yoros  — ” 
“ Sushi  yoros  — ! ” “ Bento  yoros  — ! ” Five 
minutes,  and  the  geta  clatter,  and  the  banging 
of  carriage  doors,  and  the  shrilling  of  the  boys 
stopped,  as  a whistle  blew  and  the  train  jolted 
and  moved.  It  rumbled  out,  puffed  away 
slowly  northward,  and  the  little  station 
emptied  itself.  The  policeman  on  duty  at  the 
wicket  banged  it  to,  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  sanded  platform,  surveying  the 
silent  rice-fields. 


276 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


Autumn  had  come,  — the  Period  of  Great 
Light.  The  sun  glow  had  suddenly  become 
whiter,  and  shadows  sharper,  and  all  outlines 
clear  as  edges  of  splintered  glass.  The  mosses, 
long  parched  out  of  visibility  by  the  summer 
heat,  had  revived  in  wonderful  patches  and 
bands  of  bright  soft  green  over  all  shaded  bare 
spaces  of  the  black  volcanic  soil ; from  every 
group  of  pine-trees  vibrated  the  shrill  wheeze 
of  the  tsuku-tsuku-boshi ; and  above  all  the 
little  ditches  and  canals  was  a silent  flickering 
of  tiny  lightnings,  — zigzag  soundless  flash- 
ings of  emerald  and  rose  and  azure-of-steel,  — 
the  shooting  of  dragon-flies. 

Now,  it  may  have  been  due  to  the  extraor- 
dinary clearness  of  the  morning  air  that  the 
policeman  was  able  to  perceive,  far  up  the 
track,  looking  north,  something  which  caused 
him  to  start,  to  shade  his  eyes  with  his  hand, 
and  then  to  look  at  the  clock.  But,  as  a rule, 
the  black  eye  of  a Japanese  policeman,  like 
the  eye  of  a poised  kite,  seldom  fails  to  per- 
ceive the  least  unusual  happening  within  the 
whole  limit  of  its  vision.  I remember  that 
once,  in  far-away  Oki,  wishing,  without  being 
myself  observed,  to  watch  a mask-dance  in  the 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


277 


street  before  my  inn,  I poked  a small  hole 
through  a paper  window  of  the  second  story, 
and  peered  at  the  performance.  Down  the 
street  stalked  a policeman,  in  snowy  uniform 
and  havelock ; for  it  was  midsiunmer.  He  did 
not  appear  even  to  see  the  dancers  or  the  crowd 
through  which  he  walked  without  so  much  as 
turning  his  head  to  either  side.  Then  he  sud- 
denly halted,  and  fixed  his  gaze  exactly  on  the 
hole  in  my  shoji ; for  at  that  hole  he  had  seen 
an  eye  which  he  had  instantly  decided,  by  rea- 
son of  its  shape,  to  be  a foreign  eye.  Then  he 
entered  the  inn,  and  asked  questions  about  my 
passport,  which  had  already  been  examined. 

What  the  policeman  at  the  village  station 
observed,  and  afterwards  reported,  was  that, 
more  than  half  a mile  north  of  the  station,  two 
persons  had  reached  the  railroad  track  by 
crossing  the  rice-fields,  apparently  after  leaving 
a farmhouse  considerably  to  the  northwest  of 
the  village.  One  of  them,  a woman,  he  judged 
by  the  color  of  her  robe  and  girdle  to  be  very 
young.  The  early  express  train  from  Tokyo 
was  then  due  in  a few  minutes,  and  its  advan- 
cing smoke  could  be  perceived  from  the  station 
platform.  The  two  persons  began  to  run 


278 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


quickly  along  the  track  upon  which  the  train 
was  coming.  They  ran  on  out  of  sight  round 
a curve. 

Those  two  persons  were  Taro  and  0-Yoshi. 
They  ran  quickly,  partly  to  escape  the  obser- 
vation of  that  very  policeman,  and  partly  so 
as  to  meet  the  Tokyo  express  as  far  from  the 
station  as  possible.  After  passing  the  curve, 
however,  they  stopped  running,  and  walked, 
for  they  could  see  the  smoke  coming.  As  soon 
as  they  could  see  the  train  itself,  they  stepped 
off  the  track,  so  as  not  to  alarm  the  engineer, 
and  waited,  hand  in  hand.  Another  minute, 
and  the  low  roar  rushed  to  their  ears,  and  they 
knew  it  was  time.  They  stepped  back  to  the 
track  again,  turned,  wormd  their  arms  about 
each  other,  and  lay  down  cheek  to  cheek,  very 
softly  and  quickly,  straight  across  the  inside 
rail,  already  ringing  like  an  anvil  to  the  vibra- 
tion of  the  hurrying  pressure. 

The  boy  smiled.  The  girl,  tightening  her 
arms  about  his  neck,  spoke  in  his  ear : — 

“ For  the  time  of  two  lives,  and  of  three, 
I am  your  wife ; you  are  my  husband.  Taro 
Sama.” 

Taro  said  nothing,  because  almost  at  the 


THE  RED  BRIDAL 


279 


same  instant,  notwithstanding  frantic  attempts 
to  halt  a fast  train  without  airbrakes  in  a dis- 
tance of  little  more  than  a hundred  yards,  the 
wheels  passed  through  both,  — cutting  evenly, 
like  enormous  shears. 


IX 

The  village  people  now  put  bamboo  cups 
full  of  flowers  upon  the  single  gravestone  of 
the  united  pair,  and  burn  incense-sticks,  and 
repeat  prayers.  This  is  not  orthodox  at  all, 
because  Buddhism  forbids  joshi,  and  the  ceme- 
tery is  a Buddhist  one ; but  there  is  religion 
in  it,  — a religion  worthy  of  profound  respect. 

You  ask  why  and  how  the  people  pray  to 
those  dead.  Well,  all  do  not  pray  to  them, 
but  lovers  do,  especially  unhappy  ones.  Other 
folk  only  decorate  the  tomb  and  repeat  pious 
texts.  But  lovers  pray  there  for  supernatural 
sympathy  and  help.  I was  myself  obliged  to 
ask  why,  and  I was  answered  simply,  “ Be- 
cause  those  dead  suffered  so  much''’ 

So  that  the  idea  which  prompts  such  prayers 
would  seem  to  be  at  once  more  ancient  and 
more  modern  than  Buddhism,  — the  Idea  of 
the  eternal  Religion  of  Suffering. 


IX 


A WISH  FULFILLED 

Then,  when  thou  leaveet  the  body,  and  comest  into  the  free  ether, 
thou  Shalt  be  a God  undying,  everlasting ; — neither  shall  death  have 
any  more  dominion  over  thee.  — The  Golden  Veeses. 

I 

The  streets  were  full  of  white  uniforms, 
and  the  calling  of  bugles,  and  the  rumbling  of 
artillery.  The  armies  of  Japan,  for  the  third 
time  in  history,  had  subdued  Korea ; and  the 
Imperial  declaration  of  war  against  China  had 
been  published  hy  the  city  journals,  printed 
on  crimson  paper.  All  the  military  powers  of 
the  Empire  were  in  motion.  The  first  line  of 
reserves  had  been  summoned,  and  troops  were 
pouring  into  Kumamoto.  Thousands  were 
billeted  upon  the  citizens  ; for  barracks  and 
inns  and  temples  could  not  shelter  the  passing 
host.  And  still  there  was  no  room,  though 
special  trains  were  carrying  regiments  north, 
as  fast  as  possible,  to  the  transports  waiting  at 
Shiinonoseki. 


A WISH  FULFILLED 


281 


Nevertheless,  considering  the  immensity  of 
the  movement,  the  city  was  astonishingly 
quiet.  The  troops  were  silent  and  gentle  as 
J apanese  boys  in  school  hours  ; there  was  no 
swaggering,  no  reckless  gayety.  Buddliist 
priests  were  addressing  squadrons  in  the 
courts  of  the  temples ; and  a great  ceremony 
had  already  been  performed  in  the  parade- 
ground  by  the  Abbot  of  the  Shinshu  sect,  who 
had  come  from  Kyoto  for  the  occasion. 
Thousands  had  been  placed  by  him  under  the 
protection  of  Amida ; the  laying  of  a naked 
razor-blade  on  each  young  head,  symbolizing 
voluntary  remmciation  of  life’s  vanities,  was 
the  soldier’s  consecration.  Everywhere,  at 
the  shrines  of  the  older  faith,  prayers  were 
being  offered  up  by  priests  and  people  to  the 
shades  of  heroes  who  fought  and  died  for  their 
Emperor  in  ancient  days,  and  to  the  gods  of 
armies.  At  the  Shinto  temple  of  Fujisaki 
sacred  charms  were  being  distributed  to  the 
men.  But  the  most  imposing  rites  were  those 
at  Honmyoji,  the  far-famed  monastery  of  the 
Nichiren  sect,  where  for  three  himdred  years 
have  reposed  the  ashes  of  Kato  Kiyomasa, 
conqueror  of  Korea,  enemy  of  the  Jesuits,  pro- 


282 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


tector  of  tlie  Buddhists  ; — Honmjoji,  where 
the  pilgrim  chant  of  the  sacred  invocation, 
Namu-myo-ho-renge-kyo,  sounds  like  the  roar 
of  surf ; — Honniyoji,  where  you  may  buy 
wonderful  little  mamori  in  the  shape  of  tiny 
Buddhist  shrines,  each  holding  a minuscule  im- 
age of  the  deified  warrior.  In  the  great  central 
temple,  and  in  all  the  lesser  temiDles  that  line 
the  long  approach,  special  services  were  sung, 
and  special  prayers  were  addressed  to  the  spirit 
of  the  hero  for  ghostly  aid.  The  armor,  and 
helmet,  and  sword  of  Kiyomasa,  preserved  in 
the  main  shrine  for  three  centuries,  were  no 
longer  to  be  seen.  Some  declared  that  they  had 
been  sent  to  Korea,  to  stimulate  the  heroism 
of  the  army.  But  others  told  a story  of  echo- 
ing hoofs  in  the  temple  court  by  night,  and 
the  passing  of  a mighty  Shadow,  risen  from 
the  dust  of  his  sleep,  to  lead  the  armies  of 
the  Son  of  Heaven  once  more  to  conquest. 
Doubtless  even  among  the  soldiers,  brave,  sim- 
ple lads  from  the  comitry,  many  believed,  — 
just  as  the  men  of  Athens  believed  in  the  pres- 
ence of  Theseus  at  Marathon.  All  the  more, 
perhaps,  because  to  no  small  number  of  the 
new  recruits  Kumamoto  itself  appeared  a place 


A WISH  FULFILLED 


283 


of  marvels  hallowed  by  traditions  of  the  great 
captain,  and  its  castle  a world’s  wonder,  built 
by  Kiyomasa  after  the  plan  of  a stronghold 
stormed  in  Chosen. 

Amid  all  these  preparations,  the  people 
remained  singidarly  quiet.  From  mere  out- 
ward signs  no  stranger  could  have  divined 
the  general  feeling.^  The  public  calm  was 

^ This  was  written  in  Kumamoto  during  the  fall  of  1894. 
The  enthusiasm  of  the  nation  was  concentrated  and  silent ; 
hut  rmder  that  exterior  calm  smouldered  all  the  fierceness 
of  the  old  feudal  days.  The  Government  was  obliged  to 
decline  the  freely  proffered  services  of  myriads  of  volun- 
teers, — chiefly  swordsmen.  Had  a call  for  such  volunteers 
been  made  I am  sure  100,000  men  would  have  answered  it 
within  a week.  But  the  war  spirit  manifested  itself  in 
other  ways  not  less  painful  than  extraordinary.  Many 
killed  themselves  on  being  refused  the  chance  of  military 
service  ; and  I may  cite  at  random  a few  strange  facts  from 
the  local  press.  The  gendarme  at  Soul,  ordered  to  escort 
Minister  Otori  back  to  Japan,  killed  himself  for  chagrin  at 
not  having  been  allowed  to  proceed  instead  to  the  field  of 
battle.  An  officer  named  Ishiyama,  prevented  by  illness 
from  joining  his  regiment  on  the  day  of  its  departure  for 
Korea,  rose  from  his  sick-bed,  and,  after  saluting  a portrait 
of  the  Emperor,  killed  himself  with  his  sword.  A soldier 
named  Ikeda,  at  Osaka,  having  been  told  that  beca.use  of 
some  breach  of  discipline  he  might  not  be  permitted  to  go 
to  the  front,  shot  himself.  Captain  Kani,  of  the  “ Mixed 
Brigade,”  was  prostrated  by  sickness  during  the  attack 


284 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


characteristically  J apauese  ; the  race,  like  the 
individual,  becoming  to  all  appearance  the 
more  self-contained  the  more  profoundly  its 
emotions  are  called  into  play.  The  Emperor 
had  sent  presents  to  his  troops  in  Korea, 
and  words  of  paternal  affection ; and  citizens, 
following  the  august  example,  were  shipping 
away  by  every  steamer  supjjlies  of  rice-wine, 
provisions,  fruits,  dainties,  tobacco,  and  gifts 

made  by  his  regiment  on  a fort  near  Chinchow,  and  carried 
insensible  to  the  hospital.  Kecovering  a week  later,  he 
went  (Novemher  28)  to  the  spot  where  he  had  fallen,  and 
killed  himself,  — leaving  this  letter,  translated  by  the  Japan 
Daily  Mail : “ It  was  here  that  illness  compelled  me  to 
halt  and  to  let  my  men  storm  the  fort  without  me.  Never 
can  I wipe  out  such  a disgrace  in  life.  To  clear  my  honor 
I die  thus,  — leaving  this  letter  to  speak  for  me.” 

A lieutenant  in  Tokyo,  finding  none  to  take  care  of  his 
little  motherless  girl  after  his  departure,  killed  her,  and 
joined  his  regiment  before  the  facts  were  known.  He  after- 
wards sought  death  on  the  field  and  found  it,  that  he  might 
join  his  child  on  her  journey  to  the  Meido.  This  reminds 
one  of  the  terrible  spirit  of  feudal  times.  The  samurai, 
before  going  into  a hopeless  contest,  sometimes  killed  his 
wife  and  children  the  better  to  forget  those  three  things 
no  warrior  should  rememher  on  the  battle-field,  — namely, 
home,  the  dear  ones,  and  his  own  hody.  After  that  act 
of  ferocious  heroism  the  samurai  was  ready  for  the  shini- 
mono-gurui,  — the  hour  of  the  “ death-fury,”  — giving  and 
taking  no  quarter. 


A WISH  FULFILLED 


285 


of  all  kinds.  Those  who  could  afford  nothing 
costlier  were  sending  straw  sandals.  The 
entire  nation  was  subscribing  to  the  war 
fund;  and  Kumamoto,  though  by  no  means 
wealthy,  was  doing  all  that  both  poor  and 
rich  could  help  her  do  to  prove  her  loyalty. 
The  cheek  of  the  merchant  mingled  obscurely 
with  the  paper  doUar  of  the  artisan,  the  la- 
borer’s dime,  the  coppers  of  the  kurumaya,  in 
the  great  fraternity  of  unbidden  self-denial. 
Even  children  gave ; and  their  pathetic  httle 
contributions  were  not  refused,  lest  the  uni- 
versal impulse  of  patriotism  should  be  in  any 
manner  discouraged.  But  there  were  special 
subscriptions  also  being  collected  in  every 
street  for  the  support  of  the  families  of  the 
troops  of  the  reserves,  — married  men,  en- 
gaged mostly  in  humble  callings,  who  had 
been  obliged  of  a sudden  to  leave  their  wives 
and  little  ones  without  the  means  to  live. 
That  means  the  citizens  voluntarily  and 
solemnly  pledged  themselves  to  supply.  One 
could  not  doubt  that  the  soldiers,  with  all  this 
unselfish  love  behind  them,  would  perform 
even  more  than  simple  duty  demanded. 

And  they  did. 


286 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


II 

Manyemon  said  there  was  a soldier  at  the 
entrance  who  wanted  to  see  me. 

“ Oh,  Manyemon,  I hope  they  are  not  going 
to  billet  soldiers  upon  us ! — the  house  is  too 
small ! Please  ask  him  what  he  wishes.” 

“ I did,”  answered  Manyemon  ; “ he  says  he 
knows  you.” 

I went  to  the  door  and  looked  at  a fine 
young  fellow  in  uniform,  who  smiled  and  took 
off  his  cap  as  I came  forward.  I could  not 
recognize  him.  The  smile  was  familiar,  not- 
withstanding. Where  could  I have  seen  it 
before  ? 

“ Teacher,  have  you  really  forgotten  me  ? ” 

For  another  moment  I stared  at  him,  won- 
dering ; then  he  laughed  gently,  and  uttered 
his  name,  — - 

“ Kosuga  Asakichi.” 

How  my  heart  leaped  to  him  as  I held  out 
both  hands  ! “ Come  in,  come  in  ! ” I cried. 

“ But  how  big  and  handsome  you  have  grown ! 
No  wonder  I did  not  know  you.” 

He  blushed  like  a girl,  as  he  slipped  off  his 
shoes  and  unbuckled  his  sword.  I remem- 


A WISH  FULFILLED 


287 


bered  that  be  used  to  blusb  the  same  way  in 
class,  both  when  he  made  a mistake,  and  when 
he  was  praised.  Evidently  his  heart  was  still 
as  fresh  as  then,  when  he  was  a shy  boy  of 
sixteen  in  the  school  at  Matsue.  He  had  got 
permission  to  come  to  bid  me  good-by : the 
regiment  was  to  leave  in  the  morning  for 
Korea. 

AYe  dined  together,  and  talked  of  old  times, 
— of  Izumo,  of  Kitzuki,  of  many  pleasant 
things.  I tried  in  vain  at  first  to  make  him 
drink  a little  wine  ; not  knowing  that  he  had 
promised  his  mother  never  to  drink  wine  while 
he  was  in  the  army.  Then  I substituted  cof- 
fee for  the  wine,  and  coaxed  him  to  tell  me  all 
about  himself.  He  had  returned  to  his  native 
place,  after  graduating,  to  help  his  people, 
wealthy  farmers ; and  he  had  found  that  his 
agricultural  studies  at  school  were  of  great 
service  to  him.  A year  later,  all  the  youths 
of  the  village  who  had  reached  the  age  of 
nineteen,  himself  among  the  number,  were 
summoned  to  the  Buddhist  temple  for  ex- 
amination as  to  bodily  and  educational  fit- 
ness for  military  service.  He  had  passed  as 
ichiban  (first-class)  by  the  verdicts  of  the 


288 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


examining  surgeon  and  of  the  recruiting- 
major  (s/iosa),  and  had  been  drawn  at  the 
ensuing  conscription.  After  thirteen  months’ 
service  he  had  been  promoted  to  the  rank  of 
sergeant.  He  liked  the  army.  At  first  he 
had  been  stationed  at  Nagoya,  then  at  Tokyo  ; 
but  finding  that  his  regiment  was  not  to  be 
sent  to  Korea,  he  had  petitioned  with  success 
for  ti’ansfer  to  the  Kumamoto  division.  “And 
now  I am  so  glad,”  he  exclaimed,  his  face  radi- 
ant with  a soldier’s  joy  : “ we  go  to-morrow ! ” 
Then  he  blushed  again,  as  if  ashamed  of  hav- 
ing uttered  his  frank  delight.  I thought  of 
Carlyle’s  deep  saying,  that  never  pleasures, 
but  only  suffering  and  death  are  the  lures 
that  draw  true  hearts.  I thought  also  — 
what  I could  not  say  to  any  J apanese  — that 
the  joy  in  the  lad’s  eyes  was  like  nothing  I 
had  ever  seen  before,  except  the  caress  in  the 
e3'es  of  a lover  on  the  morning  of  his  bridal. 

“ Do  you  remember,”  I asked,  “ when  you 
declared  in  the  schoolroom  that  you  wished  to 
die  for  His  Majesty  the  Emperor?” 

“ Yes,”  he  answered,  laughing.  “ And  the 
chance  has  come,  — not  for  me  only,  but  for 
several  of  my  class.” 


A WISff  FULFILLED 


289 


“ Wliere  are  they  ? ” I asked.  “ With  you  ? ” 

“ No ; they  were  all  in  the  Hiroshima 
division,  and  they  are  already  in  Korea. 
Imaoka  (you  remember  him,  teacher  : he  was 
very  tall),  and  Nagasaki,  and  Ishihara,  — they 
were. all  in  the  fight  at  Song-Hwan.  And  our 
drill-master,  the  lieutenant,  — you  remember 
him?” 

“Lieutenant  Fujii,  yes.  He  had  retired 
from  the  army.” 

“ But  he  belonged  to  the  reserves.  He  has 
also  gone  to  Korea.  He  has  had  another 
son  born  since  you  left  Izumo.” 

“ He  had  two  little  girls  and  one  boy,”  I 
said,  “ when  I was  in  Matsue.” 

“ Yes  : now  he  has  two  boys.” 

“ Then  his  family  must  feel  very  anxious 
about  him  ? ” 

“ He  is  not  anxious,”  replied  the  lad.  “ To 
die  in  battle  is  very  honorable  ; and  the  Gov- 
ernment win  care  for  the  families  of  those  who 
are  kiUed.  So  our  officers  have  no  fear. 
Only  — it  is  very  sad  to  die  if  one  has  no 
son.” 

“ I cannot  see  why.” 

“ Is  it  not  so  in  the  West  ? ” 


290 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


“ On  tlie  contrary,  we  think  it  is  very  sad 
for  the  man  to  die  who  has  children.” 

“ But  why  ? ” 

“ Every  good  father  must  he  anxious  about 
the  future  of  his  children.  If  he  be  taken 
suddenly  away  from  them,  they  may  have  to 
suffer  many  sorrows.” 

“ It  is  not  so  in  the  families  of  our  officers. 
The  relations  care  well  for  the  child,  and  the 
Government  gives  a pension.  So  the  father 
need  not  be  afraid.  But  to  die  is  sorrowful  for 
one  who  has  no  child.” 

“ Do  you  mean  sorrowful  for  the  wife  and 
the  rest  of  the  family  ? ” 

“ No ; I mean  for  the  man  himself,  the 
husband.” 

“ And  how  ? Of  what  use  can  a son  be  to 
a dead  man  ? ” 

“ The  son  inherits.  The  son  maintains  the 
family  name.  The  son  makes  the  offerings.” 

“ The  offerings  to  the  dead  ? ” 

“ Yes.  Do  you  now  understand  ? ” 

“ I understand  the  fact,  not  the  feeling. 
Do  military  men  still  hold  these  beliefs  ? ” 

“ Certainly.  Are  there  no  such  beliefs  in 
the  W est  ? ” 


A WISH  FULFILLED  291 

“ Not  now.  The  ancient  Greeks  and  Eo- 
mans  had  such  beliefs.  They  thought  that 
the  ancestral  spirits  dwelt  in  the  home,  re- 
ceived the  offerings,  watched  over  the  family. 
Why  they  thought  so,  we  partly  know ; but  we 
cannot  know  exactly  how  they  felt,  because 
we  cannot  understand  feelings  which  we  have 
never  experienced,  or  which  we  have  not  in- 
herited. For  the  same  reason,  I cannot  know 
the  real  feeling  of  a Japanese  in  relation  to 
the  dead.” 

“ Then  you  think  that  death  is  the  end  of 
everything  ? ” 

“ That  is  not  the  explanation  of  my  diffi- 
culty. Some  feelings  are  inherited,  — perhaps 
also  some  ideas.  Your  feelings  and  your 
thoughts  about  the  dead,  and  the  duty  of 
the  living  to  the  dead,  are  totally  different 
from  those  of  an  Occidental.  To  us  the  idea 
of  death  is  that  of  a total  separation,  not  only 
from  the  living,  but  from  the  world.  Does 
not  Buddliism  also  tell  of  a long  dark  jour- 
ney that  the  dead  must  make  ? ” 

“ The  journey  to  the  Meido,  — yes.  All 
must  make  that  journey.  But  we  do  not  think 
of  death  as  a total  separation.  We  think  of 


292 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


the  dead  as  still  with  us.  W e speak  to  them 
each  day.” 

“ I know  that.  What  I do  not  know  are 
the  ideas  behind  the  facts.  If  the  dead  go 
to  the  Meido,  why  shoidd  offerings  be  made 
to  ancestors  in  the  household  shrines,  and 
prayers  be  said  to  them  as  if  they  were  really 
present  ? Do  not  the  common  people  thus 
confuse  Buddhist  teachings  and  Shinto  be- 
lief ? ” 

“ Perhaps  many  do.  But  even  by  those 
who  are  Buddhists  only,  the  offerings  and  the 
prayers  to  the  dead  are  made  in  different 
places  at  the  same  time,  — in  the  parish  tem- 
ples, and  also  before  the  family  butsudan.” 

“ But  how  can  souls  be  thought  of  as  being 
in  the  Meido,  and  also  in  various  other  places 
at  the  same  time  ? Even  if  the  people  believe 
the  soul  to  be  multiple,  that  would  not  explain 
away  the  contradiction.  For  the  dead,  ac- 
cording to  Buddhist  teaching,  are  judged.” 

“ We  think  of  the  soul  both  as  one  and  as 
many.  We  think  of  it  as  of  one  person,  but 
not  as  of  a substance.  We  think  of  it  as 
something  that  may  be  in  many  places  at  once, 
like  a moving  of  air.” 


A WISH  FULFILLED 


293 


“ Or  of  electricity  ? ” I suggested. 

“ Yes.” 

Evidently,  to  my  young  friend’s  mind  the 
ideas  of  the  Meido  and  of  the  home-worship 
of  the  dead  had  never  seemed  irreconcilable; 
and  perhaps  to  any  student  of  Buddhist  phi- 
losophy the  two  faiths  would  not  appear  to 
involve  any  serious  contradictions.  The  Sutra 
of  the  Lotus  of  the  Good  Law  teaches  that 
the  Buddha  state  “ is  endless  and  without 
limits  — immense  as  the  element  of  ether T Of 
a Buddha  who  had  long  entered  into  Nirvana 
it  declares,  “ Even  after  his  complete  extinc- 
tion^ he  wanders  through  this  whole  world 
in  all  ten  points  of  space."  And  the  same 
Sutra,  after  recoimting  the  simultaneous  appa- 
rition of  all  the  Buddhas  who  had  ever  been, 
makes  the  teacher  proclaim,  “ All  these  you 
see  are  my  proper  bodies,  by  kotis  of  thou- 
sands, like  the  sands  of  the  Ganges : they 
have  appeared  that  the  law  may  be  fulfilled." 
But  it  seemed  to  me  obvious  that,  in  the  art- 
less imagination  of  the  common  people,  no 
real  accord  could  ever  have  been  established 
between  the  primitive  conceptions  of  Shinto 


294  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

and  tlie  mucli  moi-e  definite  Buddhist  doc- 
trine of  a judgment  of  souls. 

“Can  you  really  think  of  death,”  I asked, 
“ as  life,  as  light  ? ” 

“Oh  yes,”  was  the  smiling  answer.  “We 
think  that  after  death  we  shall  still  be  with 
our  families.  We  shall  see  our  parents,  our 
friends.  We  shall  remain  in  this  world,  — 
viewing  the  light  as  now.” 

(There  suddenly  recurred  to  me,  with  new 
meaning,  some  words  of  a student’s  composi- 
tion regarding  the  future  of  a just  man : 
His  soul  shall  hover  etei'nally  in  the  universe.^ 

“ And  therefore,”  continued  Asakichi,  “ one 
who  has  a son  can  die  with  a cheerful  mind.” 

“ Because  the  son  will  make  those  offerings 
of  food  and  drink  without  which  the  spirit 
would  suffer?”  I queried. 

“It  is  not  only  that.  There  are  duties 
much  more  important  than  the  making  of 
offerings.  It  is  because  every  man  needs 
some  one  to  love  him  after  he  is  dead.  Now 
you  will  understand.” 

“ Only  your  words,”  I replied,  “ only  the 
facts  of  the  belief.  The  feeling  I do  not 


A WISH  FULFILLED  295 

understand.  I cannot  tliink  tliat  the  love  of 
the  living  could  make  me  happy  after  death. 
I cannot  even  knagine  myself  conscious  of 
any  love  after  death.  And  you,  you  are  go- 
ing far  away  to  battle,  — do  you  think  it 
unfortunate  that  you  have  no  son?  ” 

“ I ? Oh  no  ! I myself  am  a son,  — a 
yoimger  son.  My  parents  are  still  alive  and 
strong,  and  my  brother  is  caring  for  them. 
If  I am  killed,  there  will  be  many  at  home 
to  love  me,  — brothers,  sisters,  and  little  ones. 
It  is  different  with  us  soldiers  : we  are  nearly 
all  very  young.” 

“ For  how  many  years,”  I asked,  “ are  the 
offerings  made  to  the  dead  ? ” 

“ For  one  hundred  years.” 

“ Only  for  a hundred  years  ? ” 

“Yes.  Even  in  the  Buddhist  temples  the 
prayers  and  the  offerings  are  made  only  for 
a hundred  years.” 

“ Then  do  the  dead  cease  to  care  for  re- 
membrance in  a hundred  years  ? Or  do  they 
fade  out  at  last  ? Is  there  a dying  of  souls  ? ” 
“ No,  but  after  one  hundred  years  they  are 
no  longer  with  us.  Some  say  they  are  born 
again ; others  say  they  become  kami,  and  do 


296 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


reverence  to  tliem  as  kami,  and  on  certain 
days  make  offerings  to  them  in  the  toko.” 

(Such  were,  I knew,  the  commonly  accepted 
explanations,  but  I had  heard  of  beliefs 
strangely  at  variance  with  these.  There  are 
traditions  that,  in  families  of  exceeding  vir- 
tue, the  souls  of  ancestors  took  material 
form,  and  remained  sometimes  visible  through 
hundreds  of  years.  A seiigaji  pilgrim^  of 
old  days  has  left  an  account  of  two  whom  he 
said  he  had  seen  in  some  remote  part  of  the 
interior.  They  were  small,  dim  shapes,  “ dark 
like  old  bronze.”  They  could  not  speak,  but 
made  little  moaning  sounds,  and  they  did  not 
eat,  but  only  inhaled  the  warm  vapor  of  the 
food  daily  set  before  them.  Every  year,  their 
descendants  said,  they  became  smaller  and 
vaguer.) 

“ Do  you  think  it  is  very  strange  that  we 
should  love  the  dead  ? ” Asakichi  asked. 

“ No,”  I replied,  “ I think  it  is  beautiful. 

1 A sengaji  pilgrim  is  one  who  makes  the  pilgrimage  to 
the  thousand  famous  temples  of  the  Nichiren  sect ; a jour- 
ney requiring  many  years  to  perform. 


A WISH  FULFILLED 


297 


But  to  me,  as  a Western  stranger,  tlie  custom 
seems  not  of  to-day,  but  of  a more  ancient 
world.  The  thoughts  of  the  old  Greeks  about 
the  dead  must  have  been  much  like  those  of 
the  modern  Japanese,  The  feelings  of  an 
Athenian  soldier  in  the  age  of  Pericles  were 
perhaps  the  same  as  yours  in  this  era  of 
Meiji.  And  you  have  read  at  school  how  the 
Greeks  sacrificed  to  the  dead,  and  how  they 
paid  honor  to  the  spirits  of  brave  men  and 
patriots  ? ” 

“Yes.  Some  of  their  customs  were  very 
like  our  own.  Those  of  us  who  fall  in  battle 
against  Cliina  will  also  be  honored.  They 
will  be  revered  as  kami.  Even  our  Emperor 
will  honor  them.” 

“ But,”  I said,  “ to  die  so  far  away  from 
the  graves  of  one’s  fathers,  in  a foreign  land, 
woidd  seem,  even  to  Western  people,  a very 
sad  thing.” 

“ Oh  no.  There  will  be  monuments  set  up 
to  honor  our  dead  in  their  own  native  villages 
and  towns,  and  the  bodies  of  our  soldiers  will 
be  burned,  and  the  ashes  sent  home  to  J ajsan. 
At  least  that  will  be  done  whenever  possible. 
It  might  be  difficult  after  a great  battle.” 


298 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


(A  sudden  memory  of  Homer  surged  back 
to  me,  with  a Ausion  of  tbat  antique  plain 
where  “ the  pyres  of  the  dead  burnt  continu- 
ally in  multitude.”) 

“ And  the  spirits  of  the  soldiers  slain  in 
this  war,”  I asked,  — “ will  they  not  always 
be  prayed  to  help  the  country  in  time  of 
national  danger  ? ” 

“ Oh  yes,  always.  W e shall  be  loved  and 
worshiped  by  all  the  people.” 

He  said  “ we  ” quite  naturally,  like  one 
already  destined.  After  a little  pause  he 
resmned : — 

‘‘  The  last  year  that  I was  at  school  we  had 
a military  excursion.  We  marched  to  a shrine 
in  the  district  of  lu,  where  the  spirits  of  heroes 
are  worshiped.  It  is  a beautiful  and  lonesome 
place,  among  hills ; and  the  temple  is  shad- 
owed by  very  high  trees.  It  is  always  dim 
and  cool  and  silent  there.  We  drew  up  be- 
fore the  shrine  in  military  order ; nobody 
spoke.  Then  the  bugle  sounded  through  the 
holy  grove,  like  a call  to  battle ; and  we  all 
presented  arms  ; and  the  tears  came  to  my 
eyes,  — I do  not  know  why.  I looked  at  my 


A WISH  FULFILLED 


299 


comrades,  and  I saw  they  felt  as  I did.  Per- 
haps, because  you  are  a foreigner,  you  will 
not  understand.  But  there  is  a little  poem, 
that  every  Japanese  knows,  which  expresses 
the  feeling  very  well.  It  was  written  long 
ago  by  the  great  priest  Saigyo  Hoshi,  who  had 
been  a warrior  before  becoming  a priest,  and 
whose  real  name  was  Sato  Norikyo : — 

“ ^ Nani  go  to  no 
Owashimasu  ka  wa 
Shirane  domo 
Arigata  sa  ni  zo 
Namida  kobururu.’  ” ^ 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  I had  heard 
such  a confession.  Many  of  my  students  had 
not  hesitated  to  speak  of  sentiments  evoked  by 
the  sacred  traditions  and  the  dim  solemnity  of 
the  ancient  shrines.  ReaUy  the  experience  of 
Asakichi  was  no  more  individual  than  might 
be  a single  ripple  in  a fathomless  sea.  He 
had  only  uttered  the  ancestral  feeling  of  a 
race, — the  vague  but  immeasurable  emotion  of 
Shinto. 

1 “ What  thing  (cause)  there  may  be,  I cannot  tell.  But 
[whenever  I come  in  presence  of  the  shrine]  grateful  tears 
overflow.  ’ ’ 


300  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

We  talked  on  till  tke  soft  summer  darkness 
fell.  Stars  and  the  electric  lights  of  tke 
citadel  twinkled  out  together ; bugles  sang ; 
and  from  Kiy omasa’s  fortress  rolled  into  the 
night  a sound  deep  as  a thunder-peal,  the 
chant  of  ten  thousand  men : — 

Nishi  mo  higashi  mo 
Mina  teki  zo, 

Minami  mo  kita  mo 
Mina  teki  zo : 

Yose~kura  teki  wa 
Shiranuhi  no 
Tsukushi  no  hate  no 
Satsuma  gata?- 

“You  have  learned  that  song,  have  you 
not  ? ” I asked. 

“ Oh  yes,”  said  Asakichi.  “ Every  soldier 
knows  it.” 

^ This  -would  be  a free  translation  in  nearly  the  same 
measure : — 

Oh ! the  land  to  south  and  north 
All  is  full  of  foes ! 

Westward,  eastward,  looking  forth, 

All  is  full  of  foes ! 

None  can  well  the  number  tell 
Of  the  hosts  that  pour 

From  the  strand  of  Satsuma, 

From  Tsukushi’s  shore. 


A WISH  FULFILLED 


301 


It  was  the  Kumamoto  Eojo,  the  Song  of 
the  Siege.  We  listened,  and  could  even 
catch  some  words  in  that  mighty  volume  of 
sound : — 


Tenchi  mo  Icuzuru 
Bakari  nari, 

Tenchi  iva  kuzure 
Yama  kawa  wa 
Sakuru  tameshi  no 
Araba  tote, 

Ugokanu  mono  wa 
Kimi  ga  mi  yol 

For  a little  while  Asakichi  sat  listening, 
swaying  his  shoulders  in  time  to  the  strong 
rhythm  of  the  chant;  then,  as  one  suddenly 
waking,  he  laughed,  and  said : — 

“ Teacher,  I must  go ! I do  not  know 
how  to  thank  you  enough,  nor  to  teU  you 
how  happy  this  day  has  been  for  me.  But 
first,”  — taking  from  his  breast  a little  envel- 

^ What  if  Earth  should  sundered  be  ? 

WTiat  if  Heaven  fall  ? 

What  if  mountain  mix  with  sea  ? 

Brave  hearts  each  and  all, 

Know  one  thing  shall  still  endure, 

Riun  cannot  whelm, 

Everlasting,  holy,  pure,  — 

This  Imperial  Realm. 


302 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


ope,  — “ please  accept  this.  You  asked  me  for 
a photograph  long  ago : I brought  it  for  a 
souvenir.” 

He  rose,  and  buckled  on  his  sword.  I 
pressed  his  hand  at  the  entrance. 

“ And  what  may  I send  you  from  Korea, 
teacher  ? ” he  asked. 

“ Only  a letter,”  I said,  — “ after  the  next 
great  victory.” 

“ Surely,  if  I can  hold  a pen,”  he  responded. 

Then  straightening  up  till  he  looked  like 
a statue  of  bronze,  he  gave  me  the  formal 
military  salute,  and  strode  away  in  the  dark. 

I returned  to  the  desolate  guest-room  and 
dreamed.  I heard  the  thunder  of  the  soldiers’ 
song.  I listened  to  the  roar  of  the  trains, 
bearing  away  so  many  young  hearts,  so  muck 
priceless  loyalty,  so  much  splendid  faith  and 
love  and  valor,  to  the  fever  of  Chinese  rice- 
fields,  to  gathering  cyclones  of  death. 

. Ill 

The  evening  of  the  same  day  that  we  saw 
the  name  “ Kosuga  Asakichi  ” in  the  long  list 
published  by  the  local  newspaper,  Manyemon 


A WISIT  FULFILLED  303 

decorated  and  illuminated  the  alcove  of  the 
guest-room  as  for  a sacred  festival ; filling  the 
vases  with  flowers,  lighting  several  small 
lamps,  and  kindling  incense-rods  in  a little 
cup  of  bronze.  When  all  was  finished,  he 
called  me.  Approaching  the  recess,  I saw  the 
lad’s  photograph  within,  set  upright  on  a tiny 
dai ; and  before  it  was  spread  a miniature 
feast  of  rice  and  fruits  and  cakes,  — the  old 
man’s  offering. 

“ Perhaps,”  ventured  Manyemon,  “ it  would 
please  his  spirit  if  the  master  should  be  honor- 
ably willing  to  talk  to  him.  He  would  under- 
stand the  master’s  English.” 

I did  talk  to  him  ; and  the  portrait  seemed 
to  smile  through  the  wreaths  of  the  incense. 
But  that  which  I said  was  for  him  only,  and 
the  Gods. 


X 


IN  YOKOHAMA 

A good  sight  indeed  has  met  us  to-day,  — a good  daybreak,  — a beau> 
tiful  rising; — for  we  have  seen  the  Perfectly  Enlightened,  who  has 
crossed  the  stream.  — Hemavatasutta. 

I 

The  Jizo-Do  was  not  easy  to  find,  being 
hidden  away  in  a court  behind  a street  of 
small  shops ; and  the  entrance  to  the  court 
itself  — a very  narrow  opening  between  two 
houses  — being  veiled  at  every  puff  of  wind 
by  the  fluttering  sign-drapery  of  a dealer  in 
second-hand  clothing. 

Because  of  the  heat,  the  shoji  of  the  little 
temple  had  been  removed,  leaving  the  sanc- 
tuary open  to  view  on  three  sides.  I saw 
the  usual  Buddhist  furniture  — service-bell, 
reading-desk,  and  scarlet  lacquered  mokugyo, 
disposed  upon  the  yellow  matting.  The 
altar  supported  a stone  Jizo,  wearing  a bib 
for  the  sake  of  child  ghosts;  and  above  the 
statue,  upon  a long  shelf,  were  smaller  im- 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


305 


ages  gilded  and  painted,  — another  Jizo,  au- 
reoled  from  head  to  feet,  a radiant  Amida, 
a sweet-faced  Kwannon,  and  a grewsome  fig- 
ure of  the  J udge  of  Souls.  Still  higher  were 
suspended  a confused  multitude  of  votive 
offerings,  including  two  framed  prints  taken 
from  American  illustrated  papers  : a view  of 
the  Philadelphia  Exhibition,  and  a portrait  of 
Adelaide  Neilson  in  the  character  of  Juliet. 
In  lieu  of  the  usual  flower  vases  before  the 
honzon  there  were  jars  of  glass  bearing  the 
inscription,  — “ Heine  Claude  au  jus  ; con- 
servation garantie.  Toussaint  Cosnard : 
Bordeaux^  And  the  box  filled  with  incense- 
rods  bore  the  legend  : “ Rich  in  flavor  — 
Pinhead  Cigarettes."  To  the  innocent  folk 
who  gave  them,  and  who  could  never  hope  in 
this  world  to  make  costlier  gifts,  these  ex- 
voto  seemed  beautiful  because  strange ; and  in 
spite  of  incongruities  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  little  temple  did  really  look  pretty. 

A screen,  with  weird  figures  of  Arhats 
creating  dragons,  masked  the  further  cham- 
ber ; and  the  song  of  an  unseen  uguisu  sweet- 
ened the  hush  of  the  place.  A red  cat  came 
from  behind  the  screen  to  look  at  us,  and 


306 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


retired  again,  as  if  to  convey  a message. 
Presently  appeared  an  aged  nun,  who  wel- 
comed us  and  bade  us  enter ; her  smoothly 
shaven  head  shining  like  a moon  at  every 
reverence.  We  doffed  our  footgear,  and  fol- 
lowed her  behind  the  screen,  into  a little 
room  that  opened  upon  a garden  ; and  we  saw 
the  old  priest  seated  upon  a cushion,  and 
writing  at  a very  low  table.  He  laid  aside 
his  brush  to  greet  us ; and  we  also  took  our 
places  on  cushions  before  him.  Very  pleas- 
ant his  face  was  to  look  upon : all  wrinkles 
written  there  by  the  ebb  of  life  spake  of  that 
which^was  good. 

The  nun  brought  us  tea,  and  sweetmeats 
stamped  with  the  Wheel  of  the  Law ; the  red 
cat  curled  itself  up  beside  me ; and  the  priest 
talked  to  us.  His  voice  was  deep  and  gentle ; 
there  were  bronze  tones  in  it,  like  the  rich 
murmurings  which  follow  each  peal  of  a tem- 
ple bell.  We  coaxed  him  to  tell  us  about 
himself.  He  was  eighty-eight  years  of  age, 
and  his  eyes  and  ears  were  still  as  those  of  a 
young  man ; but  he  could  not  walk  because 
of  chronic  rheumatism.  For  twenty  years  he 
had  been  occupied  in  writing  a religious  his- 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


307 


tory  of  Japan,  to  be  completed  in  tliree  bim- 
dred  volumes  ; and  he  had  already  completed 
two  himdred  and  thirty.  The  rest  he  hoped 
to  write  during  the  coming  year.  I saw  on 
a small  book-shelf  behind  him  the  imposing 
array  of  neatly  bound  MSS. 

“ But  the  plan  upon  which  he  works,” 
said  my  student  interpreter,  “ is  quite  wrong. 
His  history  will  never  be  published ; it  is  full 
of  impossible  stories  — miracles  and  fairy- 
tales.” 

(I  thought  I should  like  to  read  the 
stories.) 

“ For  one  who  has  reached  such  an  age,” 
I said,  “ you  seem  very  strong.” 

“ The  signs  are  that  I shall  live  some  years 
longer,”  replied  the  old  man,  “ though  I wish 
to  live  only  long  enough  to  finish  my  history. 
Then,  as  I am  helpless  and  cann^  move 
about,  I want  to  die  so  as  to  get  a new  body. 
I suppose  I must  have  committed  some  fault 
in  a former  life,  to  be  crippled  as  I am.  But 
I am  glad  to  feel  that  I am  nearing  the 
Shore.” 

“ He  means  the  shore  of  the  Sea  of  Death 
and  Birth,”  says  my  interpreter.  “ The  ship 


308 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


whereby  we  cross,  you  know,  is  the  Ship 
of  the  Good  Law;  and  the  farthest  shore  is 
Nehan,  — Nirvana.” 

“Are  all  our  bodily  weaknesses  and  nais- 
fortunes,”  I asked,  “the  results  of  errors 
committed  in  other  births  ? ” 

“ That  which  we  are,”  the  old  man 
answered,  “ is  the  consequence  of  that  which 
we  have  been.  We  say  in  Japan  the  conse- 
quence of  mango  and  ingo,  — the  two  classes 
of  actions.” 

“ Evil  and  good  ? ” I queried. 

“ Greater  and  lesser.  There  are  no  perfect 
actions.  Every  act  contains  both  merit  and 
demerit,  just  as  even  the  best  painting  has 
defects  and  excellences.  But  when  the  sum 
of  good  in  any  action  exceeds  the  sum  of  evil, 
just  as  in  a good  painting  the  merits  outweigh 
the  faults,  then  the  result  is  progress.  And 
gradually  by  such  progress  will  all  evil  be 
eliminated.” 

“ But  how,”  I asked,  “ can  the  result  of 
actions  afEect  the  physical  conditions  ? The 
child  follows  the  way  of  his  fathers,  inherits 
their  strength  or  their  weakness  ; yet  not  from 
them  does  he  receive  his  soul.” 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


309 


“ The  chain  of  causes  and  effects  is  not  easy 
to  explain  in  a few  words.  To  understand 
all  you  should  study  the  Dai-jo  or  Greater 
Vehicle ; also  the  Sho-jo,  or  Lesser  Vehicle. 
There  you  will  learn  that  the  world  itself  exists 
only  because  of  acts.  Even  as  one  learning 
to  write,  at  first  writes  only  with  great 
difficulty,  but  afterward,  becoming  skillful, 
writes  without  knowledge  of  any  effort,  so 
the  tendency  of  acts  continually  repeated  is 
to  form  habit.  And  such  tendencies  persist 
far  beyond  this  life.” 

“ Can  any  man  obtain  the  power  to  remem- 
ber his  former  births  ? ” 

“ That  is  very  rare,”  the  old  man  answered, 
shaking  his  head.  “ To  have  such  memory 
one  should  first  become  a Bosatsu  \_BodMs- 
sattva] .” 

“ Is  it  not  possible  to  become  a Bosatsu  ? ” 

“ Not  in  this  age.  This  is  the  Period  of 
Corruption.  First  there  was  the  Period  of 
True  Doctrine,  when  life  was  long ; and  after  it 
came  the  Period  of  Images,  during  which  men 
departed  from  the  highest  truth;  and  now 
the  world  is  degenerate.  It  is  not  now  possi- 
ble by  good  deeds  to  become  a Buddha,  be- 


310 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


cause  the  world  is  too  corrupt  and  life  is  too 
short.  But  devout  persons  may  attain  the 
Gokuraku  [Paradise]  by  virtue  of  merit,  and 
by  constantly  repeating  the  Nembutsu ; and 
in  the  Gokuraku,  they  may  be  able  to  practice 
the  true  doctrine.  For  the  days  are  longer 
there,  and  life  also  is  very  long.” 

“ I have  read  in  our  translations  of  the 
Sutras,”  I said,  “ that  by  virtue  of  good 
deeds  men  may  be  reborn  in  happier  and  yet 
happier  conditions  successively,  each  time  ob- 
taining more  perfect  faculties,  each  time  sur- 
rounded by  higher  joys.  Riches  are  spoken 
of,  and  strength  and  beauty,  and  graceful 
women,  and  aU  that  people  desire  in  this 
temporary  world.  Wherefore  I cannot  help 
thinking  that  the  way  of  progress  must  con- 
tinually grow  more  difficult  the  further  one 
proceeds.  For  if  these  texts  be  true,  the  more 
one  succeeds  in  detaching  one’s  self  from  the 
things  of  the  senses,  the  more  powerful  become 
the  temptations  to  return  to  them.  So  that 
the  reward  of  virtue  would  seem  itself  to  be 
made  an  obstacle  in  the  path.” 

“Not  so!”  replied  the  old  man.  “They, 
who  by  self-mastery  reach  such  conditions  of 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


311 


iemporary  happiness,  have  gained  spiritual 
force  also,  and  some  knowledge  of  truth. 
Their  strength  to  conquer  themselves  in- 
creases more  and  more  with  every  triumph, 
until  they  reach  at  last  that  world  of  Ap- 
paritional  Birth,  in  which  the  lower  forms  of 
temptation  have  no  existence.” 

The  red  cat  stirred  uneasily  at  a sound  of 
geta,  then  went  to  the  entrance,  followed  hy 
the  nun.  There  were  some  visitors  waiting; 
and  the  priest  begged  us  to  excuse  him  a little 
while,  that  he  might  attend  to  their  spiritual 
wants.  W e made  place  quickly  for  them,  and 
they  came  in,  — poor  pleasant  folk,  who  sa- 
luted us  kindly : a mother  bereaved,  desiring 
to  have  prayers  said  for  the  happiness  of  her 
little  dead  boy ; a young  wife  to  obtain  the  pity 
of  the  Buddha  for  her  ailing  husband  ; a father 
and  daughter  to  seek  divine  help  for  somebody 
that  had  gone  very  far  away.  The  priest 
spoke  caressingly  to  all,  giving  to  the  mother 
some  little  prints  of  Jizo,  giving  a paper  of 
blest  rice  to  the  wife,  and  on  behalf  of  the 
father  and  daughter,  preparing  some  holy 
texts.  Involuntarily  there  came  to  me  the 
idea  of  all  the  countless  innocent  prayers  thus 


312 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


being  daily  made  in  coimtless  temples;  tho 
idea  of  all  the  fears  and  hopes  and  heartaches 
of  simple  love;  the  idea  of  aU  the  humble 
sorrows  unheard  by  any  save  the  gods.  The 
student  began  to  examine  the  old  man’s  books, 
and  I began  to  think  of  the  unthinkable. 

Life  — life  as  unity,  uncreated,  without  be- 
ginning, — of  which  we  know  the  luminous 
shadows  only;  — life  forever  striving  against 
death,  and  always  conquered  yet  always  sur- 
viving — what  is  it  ? — why  is  it  ? A myriad 
times  the  universe  is  dissipated,  — a myriad 
times  again  evolved ; and  the  same  life  van- 
ishes with  every  vanishing,  only  to  reappear 
in  another  cycling.  The  Cosmos  becomes  a 
nebula,  the  nebula  a Cosmos:  eternally  the 
swarms  of  suns  and  worlds  are  born ; eternallv 
they  die.  But  after  each  tremendous  integra- 
tion the  flaming  spheres  cool  down  and  ripen 
into  life;  and  the  life  ripens  into  Thought. 
The  ghost  in  each  one  of  us  must  have  passed 
through  the  burning  of  a million  suns,  — must 
survive  the  awful  vanishing  of  countless  future 
universes.  May  not  Memory  somehow  and 
somewhere  also  survive  ? Are  we  sure  that  in 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


313 


ways  and  forms  unknowable  it  does  not?  as 
infinite  vision,  — remembrance  of  the  Future 
in  the  Past  ? Perhaps  in  tbe  Night-witbout- 
end,  as  in  deeps  of  Nirvana,  dreams  of  all 
that  has  ever  been,  of  all  that  can  ever  be,  are 
being  perpetually  dreamed. 

Tbe  parisbioners  uttered  their  thanks,  made 
their  little  offerings  to  Jizo,  and  retired,  salut- 
ing us  as  they  went.  W e resumed  our  former 
places  beside  the  little  writing-table,  and  tbe 
old  man  said  : — 

“It  is  tbe  priest,  perhaps,  who  among  all 
men  best  knows  what  sorrow  is  in  the  world. 
I have  heard  that  in  the  countries  of  the  West 
there  is  also  much  suffering,  although  the 
Western  nations  are  so  rich.” 

“ Yes,”  I made  answer ; “ and  I think  that 
in  Western  countries  there  is  more  unhappi- 
ness than  in  Japan.  For  the  rich  there  are 
larger  pleasures,  but  for  the  poor  greater 
pains.  Oirr  life  is  much  more  difficult  to 
live ; and,  perhaps  for  that  reason,  our 
thoughts  are  more  troubled  by  the  mystery 
of  the  world.” 

The  priest  seemed  interested,  but  said  no- 


314 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


tiling.  Witli  the  interpreter’s  help,  I con- 
tinued : — 

“ There  are  three  great  questions  by  which 
the  minds  of  many  men  in  the  Western  coun- 
ti’ies  are  jierpetually  tormented.  These  ques- 
tions  we  call  ‘ the  Whence,  the  Whither,  and 
the  Why,’  meaning,  Whence  Life?  Whither 
does  it  go  ? Why  does  it  exist  and  suffer  ? 
Our  highest  Western  Science  declares  them 
riddles  impossible  to  solve,  yet  confesses  at 
the  same  time  that  the  heart  of  man  can  find 
no  peace  till  they  are  solved.  All  religions 
have  attempted  explanations ; and  all  their 
explanations  are  different.  I have  searched 
Buddhist  books  for  answers  to  these  ques- 
tions, and  I found  answers  which  seemed  to 
me  better  than  any  others.  Still,  they  did 
not  satisfy  me,  being  incomplete.  From  your 
own  lips  I hope  to  obtain  some  answers  to  the 
first  and  the  third  questions  at  least.  I do 
not  ask  for  proof  or  for  arguments  of  any 
kind : I ask  only  to  know  doctrine.  W as  the 
beginning  of  all  things  in  universal  Mind  ? ” 

To  this  question  I really  expected  no  defi- 
nite answer,  having,  in  the  Sutra  called  Sabba- 
sava,  read  about  “ those  things  which  ought 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


315 


not  to  be  considered,”  and  about  the  Six 
Absurd  Notions,  and  the  words  of  tbe  rebuke 
to  sucb  as  debate  within  themselves : “ This 
is  a being : whence  did  it  come  f whither  will 
it  go  f ” But  the  answer  came,  measured 
and  musical,  like  a chant : — 

“ All  things  considered  as  individual  have 
come  into  being,  through  forms  innumera- 
ble of  development  and  reproduction,  out  of 
the  universal  Mind.  Potentially  within  that 
mind  they  had  existed  from  eternity.  But 
between  that  we  call  Mind  and  that  we  call 
Substance  there  is  no  difference  of  essence. 
What  we  name  Substance  is  only  the  sum 
of  our  own  sensations  and  perceptions ; and 
these  themselves  are  but  phenomena  of  Mind. 
Of  Substance-in-itself  we  have  not  any  know- 
ledge. We  know  nothing  beyond  the  phases 
of  our  mind,  and  these  phases  are  wrought  in 
it  by  outer  influence  or  power,  to  which  we 
give  the  name  Substance.  But  Substance 
and  Mind  in  themselves  are  only  two  phases 
of  one  infinite  Entity.” 

“ There  are  Western  teachers  also,”  I said, 
“ who  teach  a like  doctrine ; and  the  most 
profound  researches  of  our  modern  science 


316  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

seem  to  demonstrate  that  what  we  term  Mat- 
ter has  no  absolute  existence.  But  concern- 
ing that  infinite  Entity  of  which  you  speak, 
is  there  any  Buddhist  teaching  as  to  when 
and  how  It  first  produced  those  two  forms 
which  in  name  we  still  distinguish  as  Mind 
and  Substance?” 

“ Buddhism,”  the  old  priest  answered, 
“ does  not  teach,  as  other  religions  do,  that 
things  have  been  produced  by  creation.  The 
one  and  only  Reality  is  the  universal  Mind, 
called  in  J apanese  Shinnyo,^  — the  Reality-in- 
its-very-self,  infinite  and  eternal.  Now  this 
infinite  Mind  within  Itself  beheld  Its  own 
sentiency.  And,  even  as  one  who  in  halluci- 
nation assumes  apparitions  to  be  actualities, 
so  the  universal  Entity  took  for  external  ex- 
istences that  wbich  It  beheld  only  within 
Itself.  We  call  this  illusion  Mu-myo,^  signi- 
fying ‘ without  radiance,’  or  ‘ void  of  illumi- 
nation.’ ” 

“ The  word  has  been  translated  by  some 
Western  scholars,”  I observed,  “ as  ‘ Igno- 
rance.’ ” 

“ So  I have  been  told.  But  the  idea  con* 

1 Sanscrit : BhUta-Tathata. 

^ Sanscrit;  Avidya. 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


317 


veyeci  by  tbe  word  we  use  is  not  tbe  idea 
expressed  by  tbe  term  ‘ ignorance.’  It  is 
rather  the  idea  of  enlightenment  misdirected, 
or  of  illusion.” 

“ And  what  has  been  taught,”  I asked, 
“ concerning  the  time  of  that  illusion?” 

“ The  time  of  the  primal  illusion  is  said  to 
be  Mu-shi,  ‘ beyond  beginning,’  in  the  incal- 
culable past.  From  Shinnyo  emanated  the 
first  distinction  of  the  Self  and  the  Not-Self, 
whence  have  arisen  all  individual  existences, 
whether  of  Spirit  or  of  Substance,  and  all 
those  passions  and  desires,  likewise,  which 
influence  the  conditions  of  beina;  through 
countless  births.  Thus  the  universe  is  the 
emanation  of  the  infinite  Entity ; yet  it  can- 
not be  said  that  we  are  the  creations  of  that 
Entity.  The  original  Self  of  each  of  us  is  the 
universal  Mind ; and  within  each  of  us  the 
universal  Self  exists,  together  with  the  effects 
of  the  primal  illusion.  And  this  state  of  the 
original  SeK  enwrapped  in  the  residts  of 
illusion,  we  call  Nyorai-z6,^  or  the  Womb  of 

1 Sanscrit : Tathagata-gharba.  The  term  “ Tathagata  ” 
(Japanese  Nydrai)  is  the  highest  title  of  a Buddha.  It 
signifies  “ One  whose  coming  is  like  the  coming  of  his  pre- 
decessors.” 


318  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

the  Buddha.  The  end  for  which  we  should 
all  strive  is  simply  our  return  to  the  infi- 
nite Original  Self,  which  is  the  essence  of 
Buddha.” 

“ There  is  another  subject  of  doubt,”  I 
said,  “ about  which  I much  desire  to  know  the 
teaching  of  Buddhism.  Our  Western  science 
declares  that  the  visible  universe  has  been 
evolved  and  dissolved  successively  innumer- 
able times  during  the  infinite  past,  and  must 
also  vanish  and  reappear  through  countless 
cycles  in  the  infinite  future.  In  our  transla- 
tions of  the  ancient  Indian  philosophy,  and  of 
the  sacred  texts  of  the  Buddhists,  the  same 
thing  is  declared.  But  is  it  not  also  taught 
that  there  shall  come  at  last  for  all  things  a 
time  of  ultimate  vanishing  and  of  perpetual 
rest  ? ” 

He  answered : “ The  Sho-jo  indeed  teaches 
that  the  universe  has  appeared  and  disappeared 
over  and  over  again,  times  beyond  reckoning 
in  the  past,  and  that  it  must  continue  to  be 
alternately  dissolved  and  reformed  through 
unimaginable  eternities  to  come.  But  we  are 
also  taught  that  all  things  shall  enter  finally 
and  forever,  into  the  state  of  Nehan.”  ^ 


1 Nirvana. 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


319 


An  irreverent  yet  irrepressible  fancy  sud- 
denly arose  within  me.  I could  not  help 
thinking  of  Absolute  Rest  as  expressed  by 
the  scientific  formula  of  two  hundred  and 
seventy-four  degrees  (centigrade)  below  zero, 
or  461°.2  Fahrenheit.  But  I only  said  : — 

“For  the  Western  mind  it  is  difficult  to 
think  of  absolute  rest  as  a condition  of  bliss. 
Does  the  Buddhist  idea  of  Nehan  include  the 
idea  of  infinite  stillness,  of  universal  immobil- 
ity?” 

“ No,”  replied  the  priest.  “ Nehan  is  the 
condition  of  Absolute  Self-suffieiency,  the 
state  of  all-knowing,  all-perceiving.  We  do 
not  suppose  it  a state  of  total  inaction,  but 
the  supreme  condition  of  freedom  from  all  re- 
straint. It  is  true  that  we  cannot  imagine 
a bodiless  condition  of  perception  or  know- 
ledge ; because  all  our  ideas  and  sensations 
belong  to  the  condition  of  the  body.  But 
we  believe  that  Nehan  is  the  state  of  infinite 
vision  and  infinite  wisdom  and  infinite  spirit- 
ual peace.” 

The  red  cat  leaped  upon  the  priest’s  knees, 
and  there  curled  itself  into  a posture  of  lazj/ 


320 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


comfort.  The  old  man  caressed  it ; and  my 
companion  observed,  with  a little  laugh : — 

“ See  how  fat  it  is  ! PerhajDS  it  may  have 
performed  some  good  deeds  in  a previous  life.” 

“ Do  the  conditions  of  animals,”  I asked, 
“ also  depend  upon  merit  and  demerit  in  pre- 
vious existences  ? ” 

The  priest  answered  me  seriously : — 

“ All  conditions  of  being  depend  upon  con- 
ditions preexisting,  and  Life  is  One.  To  be 
born  into  the  world  of  men  is  fortunate  ; there 
we  have  some  enlightenment,  and  chances  of 
gaining  merit.  But  the  state  of  an  animal  is 
a state  of  obscurity  of  mind,  deserving  our 
pity  and  benevolence.  No  animal  can  be  con- 
sidered truly  fortunate ; yet  even  in  the  life 
of  animals  there  are  countless  differences  of 
condition.” 

A little  silence  followed,  — softly  broken 
by  the  purring  of  the  cat.  I looked  at  the 
picture  of  Adelaide  Neilson,  just  visible  above 
the  top  of  the  screen  ; and  I thought  of  Jidiet, 
and  wondered  what  the  priest  would  say  about 
Shakespeare’s  wondrous  story  of  passion  and 
sorrow,  were  I able  to  relate  it  worthily  in 
Japanese.  Then  suddenly,  like  an  answer 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


321 


to  tliat  wonder,  came  a memory  of  tlie  two 
liimdred  and  fifteenth  verse  of  the  Dhamma- 
pada : “ From  love  comes  grief ; from  grief 
comes  fear  : one  who  is  free  from  love  hnows 
neither  grief  nor  fear  T 

“ Does  Buddhism,”  I asked,  “ teach  that  all 
sexual  love  ought  to  be  suppressed?  Is  such 
love  of  necessity  a hindrance  to  enlighten- 
ment ? I know  that  Buddhist  priests,  except- 
ing those  of  the  Shin-shu,  are  forbidden  to 
marry ; but  I do  not  know  what  is  the  teach- 
ing concerning  celibacy  and  marriage  among 
the  laity.” 

“ Marriage  may  be  either  a hindrance  or  a 
help  on  the  Path,”  the  old  man  said,  “ accord- 
ing to  conditions.  All  depends  upon  condi- 
tions. If  the  love  of  wife  and  child  should 
cause  a man  to  become  too  much  attached  to 
the  temporary  advantages  of  this  unhappy 
world,  then  such  love  woidd  be  a hindrance. 
But,  on  the  contrary,  if  the  love  of  wife  and 
child  should  enable  a man  to  live  more  purely 
and  more  unselfishly  than  he  could  do  in  a 
state  of  celibacy,  then  marriage  would  be  a 
very  great  help  to  him  in  the  Perfect  Way. 
Many  are  the  dangers  of  marriage  for  the 


322 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


wise ; but  for  those  of  little  understanding  the 
dangers  of  celibacy  are  greater.  And  even 
the  illusion  of  passion  may  sometimes  lead  no- 
ble natures  to  the  higher  knowledge.  There 
is  a story  of  this.  Dai-Mokukenren,^  whom 
the  people  call  Mokuren,  was  a disciple  of 
Shaka.^  He  was  a very  comely  man ; and  a 
girl  became  enamored  of  him.  As  he  be- 
longed already  to  the  Order,  she  despaired  of 
being  ever  able  to  have  him  for  her  husband ; 
and  she  grieved  in  secret.  But  at  last  she 
found  courage  to  go  to  the  Lord  Buddha,  and 
to  sj^eak  all  her  heart  to  him.  Even  while 
she  was  speaking,  he  cast  a deep  sleep  upon 
her ; and  she  dreamed  she  was  the  happy  wife 
of  Mokuren.  Years  of  contentment  seemed 
to  pass  in  her  dream ; and  after  them  years  of 
joy  and  sorrow  mingled;  and  suddenly  her 
husband  was  taken  away  from  her  by  death. 
Then  she  knew  such  sorrow  that  she  wondered 
how  she  could  live ; and  she  awoke  in  that 
pain,  and  saw  the  Buddha  smile.  And  he 
said  to  her : ‘ Little  Sister,  thou  hast  seen. 
Choose  now  as  thou  wilt,  — either  to  be  the 

^ Sanscrit  : Mahamaudgalyayana. 

^ The  Japanese  rendering  of  Sakyamuni. 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


323 


bride  of  Mokuren,  or  to  seek  tke  higher  Way 
upon  which  he  has  entered.’  Then  she  cut 
off  her  hair,  and  became  a nun,  and  in  after- 
time attained  to  the  condition  of  one  never  to 
be  reborn.” 

For  a moment  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  story 
did  not  show  how  love’s  illusion  could  lead  to 
self-conquest ; that  the  girl’s  conversion  was 
only  the  direct  result  of  painful  knowledge 
forced  upon  her,  not  a consequence  of  her  love. 
But  presently  I reflected  that  the  vision  ac- 
corded her  could  have  produced  no  high  re- 
sult in  a selfish  or  unworthy  soul.  I thought 
of  disadvantages  unspeakable  which  the  pos- 
session of  foreknowledge  might  involve  in  the 
present  order  of  life ; and  felt  it  was  a blessed 
thing  for  most  of  us  that  the  future  shaped  it- 
self behind  a veil.  Then  I dreamed  that  the 
power  to  lift  that  veil  might  be  evolved  or 
won,  just  so  soon  as  such  a faculty  should 
be  of  real  benefit  to  men,  but  not  before ; and 
I asked : — 

“ Can  the  power  to  see  the  Future  be  ob« 
tained  through  enlightenment  ? ” 

The  priest  answered  : — 


324 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


“ Yes.  When  we  reach  that  state  of  en- 
lightenment in  which  we  obtain  the  Roku- 
Jindzu,  or  Six  Mysterious  Faculties,  then  we 
can  see  the  Future  as  well  as  the  Past.  Such 
power  comes  at  the  same  time  as  the  power  of 
remembering  former  births.  But  to  attain  to 
that  condition  of  knowledge,  in  the  present 
age  of  the  world,  is  very  difficult.” 

My  companion  made  me  a stealthy  sign 
that  it  was  time  to  say  good-by.  We  had 
stayed  rather  long  — even  by  the  measure  of 
Japanese  etiquette,  which  is  generous  to  a 
fault  in  these  matters.  I thanked  the  mas- 
ter of  the  temple  for  his  kindness  in  replying 
to  my  fantastic  questions,  and  ventured  to 
add : — 

“ There  are  a hundred  other  things  about 
which  I should  like  to  ask  you,  but  to-day 
I have  taken  too  much  of  your  time.  May  I 
come  again  ? ” 

“ It  will  make  me  very  happy,”  he  said. 
“ Be  pleased  to  come  again  as  soon  as  you 
desire.  I hope  you  will  not  fail  to  ask  about 
all  things  which  are  still  obscure  to  you.  It 
is  by  earnest  inquiry  that  truth  may  be  known 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


325 


and  illusions  dispelled.  Nay,  come  often  — 
that  I may  speak  to  you  of  the  Sho-jo.  And 
these  I pray  you  to  accept.” 

He  gave  me  two  little  packages.  One  con- 
tained white  sand  — sand  from  the  holy  temple 
of  Zenkoji,  whither  all  good  souls  make  pil- 
grimage after  death.  The  other  contained  a 
very  small  white  stone,  said  to  be  a shari,  or 
relic  of  the  body  of  a Buddha. 

I hoped  to  visit  the  kind  old  man  many 
times  again.  But  a school  contract  took  me 
out  of  the  city  and  over  the  mountains ; and 
I saw  him  no  more. 


n 

Five  years,  all  spent  far  away  from  treaty 
ports,  slowly  flitted  by  before  I saw  the  Jizo- 
Do  again.  Many  changes  had  taken  place 
both  without  and  within  me  during  that  time. 
The  beautifrd  illusion  of  Japan,  the  almost 
weird  charm  that  comes  with  one’s  first  en- 
trance into  her  magical  atmosphere,  had, 
indeed,  stayed  with  me  very  long,  but  had 
totally  faded  out  at  last.  I had  learned  to  see 
the  Far  East  without  its  glamour.  And  I 


326  OUT  OF  THE  EAST 

had  mourned  not  a little  for  the  sensations  of 
the  past. 

But  one  day  they  all  came  back  to  me  — 
just  for  a moment.  I was  in  Yokohama, 
gazing  once  more  from  the  Bluff  at  the  divine 
sjjectre  of  Fuji  haunting  the  April  morning. 
In  that  enormous  sj^riug  blaze  of  blue  light, 
the  feeling  of  my  first  Japanese  day  returned, 
the  feeling  of  my  first  delighted  wonder  in  the 
radiance  of  an  unknown  fairy-world  full  of 
beautiful  riddles,  — an  Elf -land  having  a special 
sun  and  a tinted  atmosphere  of  its  own. 
Again  I knew  myself  steeped  in  a dream 
of  luminous  peace ; again  all  visible  things 
assumed  for  me  a delicious  immateriality. 
Again  the  Orient  heaven  — flecked  only  with 
thinnest  white  ghosts  of  cloud,  all  shadowless 
as  Souls  entering  into  Nirvana  — became  for 
me  the  very  sky  of  Buddha  ; and  the  colors  of 
the  morning  seemed  deepening  into  those  of 
the  traditional  hour  of  His  birth,  when  trees 
long  dead  burst  into  blossom,  and  winds  were 
perfumed,  and  all  creatures  living  found 
themselves  possessed  of  loving  hearts.  The 
air  seemed  pregnant  with  even  such  a vague 
sweetness,  as  if  the  Teacher  were  about  to 


m YOKOHAMA 


327 


come  again ; and  all  faces  passing  seemed  to 
smile  witli  premonition  of  tlie  celestial  advent. 

Then  the  ghostliness  went  away,  and  things 
looked  earthly  ; and  I thought  of  all  the  illu- 
sions I had  known,  and  of  the  illusions  of  the 
world  as  Life,  and  of  the  universe  itself  as 
illusion.  Whereupon  the  name  Mu-myo  re- 
turned to  memory ; and  I was  moved  immedi- 
ately to  seek  the  ancient  thinker  of  the  Jizo- 
Do. 

The  quarter  had  been  much  changed:  old 
houses  had  vanished,  and  new  ones  dovetailed 
wondrously  together.  I discovered  the  court 
at  last  nevertheless,  and  saw  the  little  tem- 
ple just  as  I had  remembered  it.  Before 
the  entrance  women  were  standing;  and  a 
young  priest  I had  never  seen  before  was 
playing  with  a baby ; and  the  small  brown 
hands  of  the  infant  were  stroking  his  shaven 
face.  It  was  a kindly  face,  and  intelligent, 
with  very  long  eyes. 

“ Five  years  ago,”  I said  to  him,  in  clumsy 
Japanese,  “I  visited  this  temple.  In  that 
time  there  was  an  aged  bonsan  here.” 

The  young  bonsan  gave  the  baby  into  the 
arms  of  one  who  seemed  to  be  its  mother,  and 
responded : — 


328 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


“ Yes.  He  died  — that  old  priest ; and  I 
am  now  in  his  place.  Honorably  please  to 
enter.” 

I entered.  The  little  sanctuary  no  longer 
looked  interesting : all  its  innocent  prettiness 
was  gone.  Jizo  still  smiled  over  his  bib  ; but 
the  other  divinities  had  disappeared,  and  like- 
wise many  votive  offerings  — including  the 
picture  of  Adelaide  Neilson.  The  priest  tried 
to  make  me  comfortable  in  the  chamber  where 
the  old  man  used  to  write,  and  set  a smoking- 
box  before  me.  I looked  for  the  books  in  the 
corner;  they  also  had  vanished.  Everything 
seemed  to  have  been  changed. 

I asked : — 

“ When  did  he  die  ? ” 

“ Only  last  winter,”  replied  the  incumbent, 
“ in  the  Period  of  Greatest  Cold.  As  he 
could  not  move  his  feet,  he  suffered  much  from 
the  cold.  This  is  his  ihai.” 

He  went  to  an  alcove  containing  shelves 
incumbered  with  a bewilderment  of  objects 
indescribable,  — old  wrecks,  perhaps,  of  sa- 
cred things,  — and  opened  the  doors  of  a 
very  small  butsudan,  placed  between  glass 
jars  full  of  flowers.  Inside  I saw  the  mortu- 


IN  YOKOHAMA 


329 


ary  tablet,  — fresb  black  lacquer  and  gold. 
He  lighted  a lamplet  before  it,  set  a rod  of 
incense  smouldering,  and  said  : — 

“ Pardon  my  rude  absence  a little  while  ; 
for  there  are  parishioners  waiting.” 

So  left  alone,  I looked  at  the  ihai  and 
watched  the  steady  flame  of  the  tiny  lamp 
and  the  blue,  slow,  upcurlings  of  incense,  — 
wondering  if  the  spirit  of  the  old  priest  was 
there.  After  a moment  I felt  as  if  he  really 
were,  and  spoke  to  him  without  words.  Then 
I noticed  that  the  flower  vases  on  either  side 
of  the  butsudan  still  bore  the  name  of  Tous- 
saint  Cosnard  of  Bordeaux,  and  that  the  in- 
cense-box maintained  its  familiar  legend  of 
richly  flavored  cigarettes.  Looking  about  the 
room  I also  perceived  the  red  cat,  fast  asleep 
in  a sunny  corner.  I went  to  it,  and  stroked 
it ; but  it  knew  me  not,  and  scarcely  opened 
its  drowsy  eyes.  It  was  sleeker  than  ever, 
and  seemed  happy.  Near  the  entrance  I 
heard  a plaintive  murmuring ; then  the  voice 
of  the  priest,  reiterating  sympathetically  some 
half  - comprehended  answer  to  his  queries  : 
“ A woman  of  nineteen,  yes.  And  a man  of 
twenty-seven,  — is  it  f ” Then  I rose  to  go. 


330 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


“ Pardon,”  said  the  priest,  looking  up  from 
his  writing,  while  the  poor  women  saluted  me, 
“ yet  one  little  moment  more  ! ” 

“ Nay,”  I answered ; “ I would  not  interrupt 
you.  I came  only  to  see  the  old  man,  and  I 
have  seen  his  iliai.  This,  my  little  offering, 
was  for  him.  Please  to  accept  it  for  yourself.” 

“ Will  you  not  wait  a moment,  that  I may 
know  your  name  ? ” 

“ Perhaps  I shall  come  again,”  I said  eva- 
sively. “ Is  the  old  nun  also  dead  ? ” 

“ Oh  no ! she  is  still  taking  care  of  the  tem- 
ple. She  has  gone  out,  but  will  presently 
return.  Will  you  not  wait?  Do  you  wish 
nothing  ? ” 

“ Only  a prayer,”  I answered.  “ My  name 
makes  no  difference.  A man  of  forty-four. 
Pray  that  he  may  obtain  whatever  is  best  for 
him.” 

The  priest  wrote  something  down.  Cer- 
tainly that  which  I had  hidden  him  pray  for 
was  not  the  wish  of  my  “ heart  of  hearts.” 
But  I knew  the  Lord  Buddha  would  never 
hearken  to  any  foolish  prayer  for  the  return 
of  lost  illusions. 


XI 


TUKO:  A REMINISCENCE 
Meui,  xxiv,  5.  May,  1891 

Vho  shall  find  a rallant  woman  ? — far  and  from  the  uttermost 
coasts  is  the  price  of  her.  — Vulyate* 

“ TensM-Sama  go-shinipai."  The  Son  of 
Heaven  angustly  sorrows. 

Strange  stillness  in  the  city,  a solemnity  as 
of  public  mourning.  Even  itinerant  venders 
utter  their  street  cries  in  a lower  tone  than  is 
their  wont.  The  theatres,  usually  thronged 
from  early  morning  until  late  into  the  night, 
are  all  closed.  Closed  also  every  pleasure- 
resort,  every  show  — even  the  flower-displays. 
Closed  likewise  all  the  banquet-halls.  Not 
even  the  tinkle  of  a samisen  can  be  heard 
in  the  silent  quarters  of  the  geisha.  There 
are  no  revelers  in  the  great  inns ; the  guests 
talk  in  subdued  voices.  Even  the  faces  one 
sees  upon  the  street  have  ceased  to  wear  the 
habitual  smile ; and  placards  announce  the 


332 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


indefinite  postponement  of  banquets  and  en- 
tertainments. 

Such  public  depression  might  follow  the 
news  of  some  great  calamity  or  national  peril, 
— a terrible  earthquake,  the  destruction  of  the 
capital,  a declaration  of  war.  Yet  there  has 
been  actually  nothing  of  all  this,  — only  the 
announcement  that  the  Emperor  sorrows ; 
and  in  all  the  thousand  cities  of  the  land,  the 
signs  and  tokens  of  public  mourning  are  the 
same,  expressing  the  deep  sympathy  of  the 
nation  with  its  sovereign. 

And  following  at  once  upon  this  immense 
sympathy  comes  the  universal  spontaneous 
desire  to  repair  the  wrong,  to  make  all  possi- 
ble compensation  for  the  injury  done.  This 
manifests  itseK  in  countless  ways  mostly 
straight  from  the  heart,  and  touching  in  their 
simplicity.  From  almost  everywhere  and 
everybody,  letters  and  telegrams  of  condo- 
lence, and  curious  gifts,  are  forwarded  to  the 
Imperial  guest.  Rich  and  poor  strip  them- 
selves of  their  most  valued  heirlooms,  their 
most  precious  household  treasures,  to  offer 
them  to  the  wounded  Prince.  Innumerable 
messages  also  are  being  prepared  to  send  to 


YUKO;  A REMINISCENCE 


333 


the  Czar,  — and  all  this  by  private  individuals, 
spontaneously.  A nice  old  merchant  calls 
upon  me  to  request  that  I should  compose  for 
him  a telegram  in  French,  expressing  the  pro- 
found grief  of  all  the  citizens  for  the  attack 
upon  the  Czarevitch,  — a telegram  to  the  Em- 
peror of  all  the  Russias.  I do  the  best  I can 
for  him,  but  protest  my  total  inexperience  in 
the  wording  of  telegrams  to  high  and  mighty 
personages.  “ Oh  ! that  will  not  matter,”  he 
makes  answer  ; “ we  shall  send  it  to  the  Jap- 
anese Minister  at  St.  Petersburg : he  will 
correct  any  mistakes  as  to  form.”  I ask  him 
if  he  is  aware  of  the  cost  of  such  a message. 
He  has  correctly  estimated  it  as  something 
over  one  hundred  yen,  a very  large  sum  for  a 
small  Matsue  merchant  to  disburse. 

Some  grim  old  samurai  show  their  feelings 
about  the  occurrence  in  a less  gentle  manner. 
The  high  official  intrusted  with  the  safety  of 
the  Czarevitch  at  Otsu  receives,  by  express, 
a fine  sword  and  a stern  letter  bidding  him 
prove  his  manhood  and  his  regret  like  a sa 
murai,  by  performing  harakiri  immediately. 

For  this  people,  bke  its  own  Shinto  gods, 
has  various  souls : it  has  its  Nigi-mi-tama  and 


334 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


its  Ara-mi-tama,  its  Gentle  and  its  Rough 
Spirit.  The  Gentle  Spirit  seeks  only  to 
make  reparation  ; but  the  Rough  Spirit  de- 
mands expiation.  And  now  through  the 
darkening  atmosphere  of  the  popular  life, 
everywhere  is  felt  the  strange  thrilling  of 
these  opposing  impulses,  as  of  two  elec- 
tricities. 

Far  away  in  Kanagawa,  in  the  dwelling  of 
a wealthy  family,  there  is  a young  girl,  a 
serving-maid,  named  Yuko,  a samurai  name 
of  other  days,  signifying  “ valiant.” 

Forty  millions  are  sorrowing,  but  she  more 
than  all  the  rest.  How  and  why  no  Western 
mind  could  fully  know.  Her  being  is  rrded 
by  emotions  and  by  impulses  of  which  we  can 
guess  the  nature  only  in  the  vaguest  possible 
way.  Something  of  the  soul  of  a good  Japa- 
nese girl  we  can  know.  Love  is  there  — 
potentially,  very  deep  and  still.  Innocence 
also,  insusceptible  of  taint  — that  whose  Bud- 
dhist symbol  is  the  lotus-flower.  Sensitive- 
ness likewise,  delicate  as  the  earliest  snow  of 
plum-blossoms.  Fine  scorn  of  death  is  there 
— her  samurai  inheritance  — hidden  under  a 


YUKO:  A REMINISCENCE 


335 


gentleness  soft  as  music.  Religion  is  there, 
very  real  and  very  simple,  — a faith  of  the 
heart,  holding  the  Buddhas  and  the  Gods  for 
friends,  and  unafraid  to  ask  them  for  any- 
thing of  which  Japanese  courtesy  allows  the 
asking.  But  these,  and  many  other  feelings, 
are  supremely  dominated  by  one  emotion 
impossible  to  express  in  any  Western  tongue 
— something  for  which  the  word  “ loyalty  ” 
were  an  utterly  dead  rendering,  something 
akin  rather  to  that  which  we  call  mystical 
exaltation : a sense  of  uttermost  reverence 
and  devotion  to  the  Tenshi-Sama.  Now  this 
is  much  more  than  any  individual  feeling. 
It  is  the  moral  power  and  wiU  undying  of  a 
ghostly  multitude  whose  procession  stretches 
back  out  of  her  life  into  the  absolute  night 
of  forgotten  time.  She  herself  is  but  a 
spirit-chamber,  haunted  by  a past  utterly 
unlike  our  own,  — a past  in  which,  through 
centuries  uncounted,  all  lived  and  felt  and 
thought  as  one,  in  ways  which  never  were 
as  our  ways. 

“ Tenshi-Sama  go-shimpaiT  A burning 
shock  of  desire  to  give  was  the  instant 


336 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


response  of  the  girl’s  heart  — desire  over* 
powering,  yet  hopeless,  since  she  owned 
nothing,  unless  the  veriest  trifle  saved  from 
her  wages.  But  the  longing  remains,  leaves 
her  no  rest.  In  the  night  she  thinks  ; asks 
herself  questions  which  the  dead  answer  for 
her.  “ What  can  I give  that  the  sorrow  of 
the  August  may  cease  ? ” “ Thyself,”  re- 

spond voices  without  sound.  “ But  can 
I ? ” she  queries  wonderingly.  “ Thou  hast 
no  living  parent,”  they  reply ; “ neither  does 
it  belong  to  thee  to  make  the  offerings.  Be 
thou  our  sacrifice.  To  give  life  for  the  Au- 
gust One  is  the  highest  duty,  the  highest 
joy.”  “ And  in  what  place  ? ” she  asks. 
“ Saikyo,”  answer  the  silent  voices ; “ in  the 
gateway  of  those  who  by  ancient  custom 
should  have  died.” 

Dawn  breaks ; and  Yuko  rises  to  make 
obeisance  to  the  sun.  She  fulfills  her  first 
morning  duties  ; she  requests  and  obtains  leave 
of  absence.  Then  she  puts  on  her  pret- 
tiest robe,  her  brightest  girdle,  her  whitest 
tabi,  that  she  may  look  worthy  to  give  her 
life  for  the  Tenshi-Sama.  And  in  another 


YUKO:  A REMINISCENCE 


337 


hour  she  is  journeying  to  Kyoto.  From  the 
train  window  she  watches  the  gliding  of  the 
landscapes.  Very  sweet  the  day  is;  — all 
distances,  blue-toned  with  drowsy  vapors  of 
spring,  are  good  to  look  upon.  She  sees  the 
loveliness  of  the  land  as  her  fathers  saw  it, 
but  as  no  Western  eyes  can  see  it,  save  in  the 
weird,  queer  charm  of  the  old  Japanese  picture- 
books.  She  feels  the  delight  of  life,  but 
dreams  not  at  all  of  the  possible  future 
preciousness  of  that  life  for  herself.  No  sorrow 
follows  the  thought  that  after  her  passing  the 
world  will  remain  as  beautiful  as  before.  No 
Buddhist  melancholy  weighs  upon  her : she 
trusts  herself  utterly  to  the  ancient  gods. 
They  smile  upon  her  from  the  dusk  of  their 
holy  groves,  from  their  immemorial  shrines 
upon  the  backward  fleeing  hills.  And  one, 
perhaps,  is  with  her : he  who  makes  the  grave 
seem  fairer  than  the  palace  to  those  who  fear 
not ; he  whom  the  people  call  Shinigami,  the 
lord  of  death-desire.  For  her  the  future  holds 
no  blackness.  Always  she  will  see  the  rising 
of  the  holy  Sun  above  the  peaks,  the  smile 
of  the  Lady-Moon  upon  the  waters,  the  eter- 
nal magic  of  the  Seasons.  She  will  haunt 


338 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


the  places  of  beauty,  beyond  the  folding  of 
the  mists,  in  the  sleep  of  the  cedar-shadows, 
through  circling  of  innumerable  years.  She 
will  know  a subtler  life,  in  the  faint  winds 
that  stir  the  snow  of  the  flowers  of  the 
cherry,  in  the  laughter  of  playing  waters, 
in  every  happy  whisper  of  the  vast  green 
silences.  But  first  she  will  greet  her  kindred, 
somewhere  in  shadowy  halls  awaiting  her 
coming  to  say  to  her : “ Thou  hast  done 
well,  — lihe  a daughter  of  samurai.  Enter, 
child  ! because  of  thee  to-niqht  we  sup  with  the 
Gods/’’ 

It  is  daylight  when  the  girl  reaches  Kyoto. 
She  finds  a lodging,  and  seeks  the  house  of  a 
skillfid  female  hairdresser, 

“ Please  to  make  it  very  sharp,”  says 
Yuko,  giving  the  kamiyui  a very  small  razor 
(article  Indispensable  of  a lady’s  toilet)  ; 
“ and  I shall  wait  here  till  it  is  ready.”  She 
unfolds  a freshly  bought  newspaper  and  looks 
for  the  latest  news  from  the  capital ; while 
the  shop-folk  gaze  curiously,  wondering  at 
the  serious  pretty  manner  which  forbids  famil- 
iarity. Her  face  is  placid  like  a child’s ; but 


YUKO:  A REMINISCENCE 


339 


old  ghosts  stir  restlessly  in  her  heart,  as  she 
reads  again  of  the  Imperial  sorrow-  “ I also 
wish  it  were  the  hour,”  is  her  answering 
thought.  “ But  we  must  wait.”  At  last  she 
re  ceives  the  tiny  blade  in  faultless  order,  pays 
the  trifle  asked,  and  returns  to  her  inn. 

There  she  wi-ites  two  letters : a farewell 
to  her  brother,  an  irreproachable  appeal  to 
the  high  officials  of  the  City  of  Emperors, 
praying  that  the  Tenshi-Sama  may  be  peti- 
tioned to  cease  from  sorrowing,  seeing  that  a 
yoimg  life,  even  though  unworthy,  has  been 
given  in  voluntary  expiation  of  the  wrong. 

When  she  goes  out  again  it  is  that  hour  of 
heaviest  darkness  which  precedes  the  dawn ; 
and  there  is  a silence  as  of  cemeteries.  Eew 
and  faint  are  the  lamps ; strangely  loud  the 
sound  of  her  Kttle  geta.  Oifly  the  stars  look 
upon  her. 

Soon  the  deep  gate  of  the  Government  edi- 
fice is  before  her.  Into  the  hollow  shadow 
she  slips,  whispers  a prayer,  and  kneels. 
Then,  according  to  ancient  rule,  she  takes  off 
her  long  under-girdle  of  strong  soft  silk,  and 
with  it  binds  her  robes  tightly  about  her, 
making  the  knot  just  above  her  knees.  For 


340 


OUT  OF  THE  EAST 


no  matter  what  might  happen  in  the  instant 
of  blind  agony,  the  daughter  of  a samurai 
must  be  found  in  death  with  limbs  decently 
composed.  And  then,  with  steady  precision, 
she  makes  in  her  throat  a gash,  out  of  which 
the  blood  leaps  in  a pulsing  jet.  A samu- 
rai girl  does  not  blunder  in  these  matters : 
she  knows  the  place  of  the  arteries  and  the 
veins. 

At  sunrise  the  police  find  her,  quite  cold, 
and  the  two  letters,  and  a poor  little  purse 
containing  five  yen  and  a few  sen  (enough, 
she  had  hoped,  for  her  burial)  ; and  they 
take  her  and  all  her  small  belongings  away. 

Then  by  lightning  the  story  is  told  at  once 
to  a hundred  cities. 

The  great  newspapers  of  the  capital  re- 
ceive it ; and  cynical  journalists  imagine  vain 
things,  and  try  to  discover  common  motives 
for  that  sacrifice : a secret  shame,  a family 
sorrow,  some  disappointed  love.  But  no;  in 
all  her  simple  life  there  had  been  nothing 
hidden,  nothing  weak,  nothing  unworthy ; the 
bud  of  the  lotus  unfolded  were  less  virgin. 


YUKO:  A REMINISCENCE 


341 


So  the  cynics  write  about  her  only  noble 
things,  befitting  the  daughter  of  a samurai. 

The  Son  of  Heaven  hears,  and  knows  how 
his  people  love  him,  and  augustly  ceases  to 

i 

mourn. 

The  Ministers  hear,  and  whisper  to  one 
another,  within  the  shadow  of  the  Throne : 
“ All  else  will  change ; but  the  heart  of  the 
nation  will  not  change.” 

Nevertheless,  for  high  reasons  of  State,  the 
State  pretends  not  to  know. 


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L.  B.  Cat.  No.  1137 


H4360E  35555 

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